


a little red thread

by MaddieContrary



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Will Graham Helps Himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:35:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 78,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27876977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaddieContrary/pseuds/MaddieContrary
Summary: “Franklyn.” Hannibal greets him with a nod.“It’s so good to see you here,” Franklyn gushes. “Hello, I’m Franklyn Froideveaux. And this is my friend, Tobias Budge.”Hannibal turns his gaze to the man Franklyn is gesturing to, intrigued to see two newcomers instead of one. He inclines his head to Tobias, a man with sharp, dead eyes that are trained on Hannibal in obvious interest. “And your other friend?” Hannibal prompts.Franklyn looks flustered, turning red as he avoids everyone’s gaze. “Right, that’s— uh, Tobias, I suppose you should do the honors. He’syourfriend after all.”Tobias doesn’t extend his hand out, offering a small smile instead. “Of course. I’ve heard so much about you; it’s nice to finally put a face to a name.” With one arm snaked around the waist of his companion standing next to him, Tobias gives another insincere smile. “This is Will Graham.”***AKA that AU where Hannibal and Will met under different circumstances.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 367
Kudos: 1030





	1. the first meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello & welcome to my Nanowrimo contribution, hope yall enjoy the ride! Thank you to [Kai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kai_99/pseuds/Kai_99) for the beta, as always <3
> 
> Title of this fic came from KT Tunstall's ["Little Red Thread"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RYRfS3-0GOM&ab_channel=KTTunstallVEVO), which is particularly apt for Hannigram given the whole lyrics.

It’s Saturday night, and the Baltimore Museum of Art is packed with the city’s finest and richest — the richest of them all thinking they’re the finest, at any rate, judging by the conversation Hannibal is currently entrenched in. 

Hannibal observes and listens to the chatters of the small crowd scattered around him as he sips his wine - at least the organizer has chosen a palatable selection in consideration of the attending crowd today. Mrs. Charleston is regaling everyone with the tales of her fallout with her latest paramour, her rapt audience paying attention to every word to transmit it to the rest of their acquaintances mere minutes later. By tomorrow, Hannibal thinks everyone will know of so-and-so’s sordid history and wrongdoings, and these “elites” will keep the rumor mills going until a new piece of gossip is delivered to them.

Though Hannibal never directly participates in such droll conversations, he always finds himself dragged into them inadvertently. Baltimore’s blue blood families and the nouveau rich are always similarly eager for his perspective, perhaps because it is so rarely given. A single comment from Hannibal would set off the rumor mill once again, and though it’s amusing in a way, Hannibal never gives these people that much ammunition unless it’s to his advantage.

To that end, he sips his drink quietly and lets the rest of their small party offer their views on the dull tale of why anyone would leave Mrs. Charleston. The conversation is starting to bore him, and he glances at Irene Komeda next to him, her eyes beginning to glaze over at the overly long anecdotes. 

Hannibal leans to her with a small smile. “Perhaps we should slip away for another drink. Would you like to accompany me to the bar?”

Irene’s eyes glint conspiratorially, and she makes their excuses to the rest of the party before the two of them slip away, Mrs. Charleston too engrossed with the sound of her own voice to give notice to their disappearance.

“Odious woman,” Irene comments once they’re out of earshot, linking her arm with Hannibal’s. “If I have to listen to another story of yet another lover next week, I will shut myself away and never come out to these public gatherings ever again.”

“I can’t allow that,” Hannibal says, smiling in genuine amusement as they approach the bar. Hannibal orders their drinks before turning to Irene. “If you were to disappear from such functions, I would have no one else to talk to.”

“Oh, you flatter me, my dear,” she chuckles, swatting Hannibal’s arm fondly. “Though you shouldn’t lie so blatantly. I’m sure you’ll do fine without me. It’s not as if you need a patron to talk to anyone; people are fighting to talk to you, as it is.”

Hannibal gives her another smile at that. He retrieves their drinks from the waiter and steers the two of them to a vacant spot in the middle of the gallery’s hall. Offering a drink to Irene, he inquires about her latest project as they drink their fill. 

“Oh, the play’s coming along,” she answers, sighing as she sips her drink daintily, “we’ve had some problems with costumes and one of the performers is acting like a diva - as if I don’t have enough to deal with already - but I have to say it’s progressing rather nicely. I want to thank you for your generous contribution, by the way, it was lovely of you.”

“Think nothing of it,” Hannibal replies. “My only provision is that I would get an early viewing when the curtains are ready to rise.”

Irene chuckles, tilting her glass in a salute. “Have no worry about that, my—”

“Doctor Lecter!”

Both of them turn as one to face the intruding party, Irene looking scandalized at the lack of decorum. 

“I knew it was you!” Franklyn Froideveaux exclaims happily as he approaches them with his companions. 

Inwardly, Hannibal sighs when he recognizes his patient. Outwardly, he straightens himself and gives Franklyn a faint smile, ignoring Irene’s amused look at his cool reception. “Franklyn.” Hannibal greets him with a nod.

“It’s so good to see you here,” Franklyn gushes, smiling at Hannibal and Irene, blithely unaware of the social faux pas he’s currently making. “Hello, I’m Franklyn Froideveaux,” he continues as he extends a hand out to Irene, who shakes it without comment. “And this is my friend, Tobias Budge.”

Hannibal turns his gaze to the man Franklyn is gesturing to, intrigued to see two newcomers instead of one. He inclines his head to Tobias, a man with sharp, dead eyes that are trained on Hannibal in obvious interest. “And your other friend?” Hannibal prompts, after a few more seconds of silence where Franklyn doesn’t seem inclined to continue.

Franklyn looks flustered, turning red as he avoids everyone’s gaze. “Right, that’s— uh, Tobias, I suppose you should do the honors. He’s _your_ friend after all.”

The words and Franklyn’s tone pique Hannibal’s curiosity and he observes the three men in front of him, scrutinizing their expressions with mirth. From their therapy sessions, it’s clear that Tobias is the “friend” Franklyn has constantly alluded to in their conversations. He’s somewhat surprised to finally meet Franklyn’s friend; an unexpected sort of man to keep him company. Tobias seems to be shrewd and calculative, his calm and placid demeanor almost disturbingly inhuman. In fact, Tobias gives the air of someone who doesn’t care if others find him so.

He’s mostly intrigued to see the challenge and underlying darkness in those eyes; it’s something Hannibal recognizes intimately as it reflects the same innate darkness in himself.

Tobias doesn’t extend his hand out, offering a small smile instead. “Of course. I’ve heard so much about you; it’s nice to finally put a face to a name.” With one arm snaked around the waist of his companion standing next to him, Tobias gives another insincere smile. “This is Will Graham.”

There’s a short silence where everyone in their small party throws a glance at the man who has been rather silent throughout the introductions, the man seemingly trying to appear as unobtrusive as possible. Will looks distinctly uncomfortable at the attention, Irene looks distantly interested, Tobias looks smug, Franklyn looks bitter at the attention bestowed on Will, and Hannibal…

Well, Hannibal is immediately enchanted.

Will Graham looks unassuming at first glance, the man avoiding eye contact by smiling at people’s chins or noses instead of their eyes as he nods at Tobias’s introduction. The avoidance of eye contact is clearly a deliberate choice, then. A pity, Hannibal thinks, as the man has such stunning eyes. Aside from that, Will’s features are beautiful, the sculpting of his face something that Renaissance painters would fall over in an instant if Will had been born centuries earlier. As it is, the man doesn’t seem to put much stock into personal grooming; his beard, while neatly trimmed, is rather unfashionable for the crowd, and his curls are left mostly untamed although it looks as if there has been some attempt at hairstyling, judging by the leftover gel crusting at the corners of his curls. His suit looks as if it’s rented from a rather cheap shop, though the fitting suits the man well enough for its purpose.

Despite the faults he could detect with a single gaze over the man, Hannibal finds himself intrigued. 

“Nice to meet you,” Will mutters, breaking the silence that has fallen onto their small assembly.

Irene is the first to recover, giving Will a genuine smile and offering her hand to the man. “Nice to meet you, Will. I’m Irene Komeda,” she says, keen eyes roaming over Will’s form — clearly thinking what Hannibal is thinking. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

Will blinks and disentangles himself from Tobias’s possessive arm around his waist before taking Irene’s hand and kissing it with a fleeting smile. “This is not exactly my kind of crowd,” Will admits with an abashed smile. 

“My, what a gentleman you are,” Irene says, practically giggling with giddiness at the display. “I hope you enjoyed the show?”

“It was wonderful,” Franklyn blurts out, trying to refocus the attention. He turns to Hannibal with a wide grin. “I saw how affected you were by the opera.”

“Yes,” Tobias drawls, deadened eyes trained on Hannibal. “Though I must say he seems much more interested in _you_ rather than the opera.”

Irene frowns at the mocking tone while Franklyn’s face reddens in embarrassment. Will remains silent, though there’s a flash in his eyes that tells Hannibal that he doesn’t quite approve of Tobias’s slight, despite his laidback appearance.

Taking pity on Franklyn (for he is clearly outnumbered today), Hannibal gives the man an indulgent smile. “I was rather absorbed by one of the pieces; it was one of my favorite arias, and hearing it performed by Lady Lenora is a sublime experience.”

Franklyn’s eyes light up with excitement at the words, possibly filing the information away to listen to the said aria. Though tiresome at times, it is rather flattering to have someone who clearly looks up to him, so much so that the man tries to emulate him. Pity that Franklyn doesn’t have the potential for much else or Hannibal would have had a much more interesting time trying to coax Franklyn to a preferred path.

Franklyn’s friends, however…

Hannibal’s attention is brought to the conversation once more at Irene’s hand carefully laid on his arm. 

“Yes, Hannibal is always rather absorbed with beautiful things,” Irene is saying. “Have you seen him cook? It’s an entire performance! I’d say it would be like watching one of my plays, but I don’t think I can capture Hannibal’s flair for the dramatics for my stage just yet.”

Hannibal chuckles at the overt flattery. “It’s rather unfair to compare my dinner to your entire production. It would require me more arms and legs to achieve your level.”

“Nonsense,” Irene retorts. “You’ll see what I mean one day if he ever holds one of his dinners again. As it is, he’s left us all neglected for months now.”

Hannibal demurs with a smile and takes a sip of his wine. 

“I would be rather interested to sit at your table,” Tobias says with a cold smile. “See what the fuss is all about.”

“I’m sure whatever you do, you do it excellently,” Franklyn rushes to add in, smiling nervously while he sends quelling looks to Tobias, the looks summarily ignored by Tobias. 

Irene hums, her growing dislike of Tobias apparent on her face. Turning to Franklyn, she asks, “How do you know Hannibal, then?” 

Before Hannibal could stop him, Franklyn reveals that he is one of Hannibal’s patients, and they fall into awkward silence once more. 

Though he’s not usually the type to try and salvage a situation such as this, Hannibal is rather curious about Franklyn’s friends. Clearing his throat, he turns towards Tobias. “So what do you do, Tobias? Are you and Franklyn colleagues?” 

“Hardly,” Tobias says dismissively. “I own the Chordophone String Shop. We’re in downtown Baltimore if anyone finds a need for stringed instruments.”

Hannibal tilts his head. “Would you happen to have a business card? As it happens, I do find myself in need of some strings for my harpsichord.”

“Oh, then you’re in luck,” Tobias replies, producing a card from his jacket. “Let me know when you’d like to come in; my business hours are on the card.”

Hannibal inclines his head in thanks, stowing the card away carefully. “What did you think of tonight’s opera portion?”

Tobias shrugs. “It was a nice performance, though the brass section could use some improvement.”

Hannibal merely hums before taking a sip of his drink. He turns to Will Graham next. “And what did you think, Will?”

Will looks startled to be addressed at all; he looks as if his mind had been far away, his eyes looking glassy as he blinks rapidly. “Uh, sorry,” he says, laughing in embarrassment as he shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck. “What were you saying?”

Giving the man a small smile, Hannibal repeats the question, curious as to where Will’s attention had been.

Will licks his lips before answering, looking distracted. “As I said, this is not really my kind of thing.” He shrugs. “It was a different kind of experience. I, uh, this was my first opera I guess?”

“Oh, you have to go for a full opera experience then,” Irene quips in. “Lenora has another show at the Baltimore Opera House at the end of the month — that would be a rather grand show for you to fully immerse yourself in.”

Will chuckles and shares a glance with Tobias, smirking before looking away. “Yeah, we’ll see. I only came here under extreme duress.”

“Now, Will,” Tobias sees with a placid smile, putting his arm around Will’s waist once again in a proprietary manner. “You’ll make people think I forced you to accompany me here.”

There’s a flash of jealousy on Franklyn’s face at those words, and Hannibal finds himself empathizing with the feeling, shockingly enough. 

Will lets out another laugh, his eyes crinkling with mirth as he exchanges a glance with Tobias. 

Finding himself disconcertingly endeared by his expression, Hannibal pulls his gaze away to look at Tobias’s smug face instead.

“No, uh,” Will says, smirking slightly. “No force, just… some coercion I guess.”

“What do you do, Will, if you don’t mind me asking?” Irene asks after a lull in the conversation.

“I’m just a freelancer these days,” Will replies.

“Oh, what kind of freelancing works do you offer?” 

“I fix motors, that kind of stuff,” Will says with a shrug and a forced smile. “I’m not exactly the kind of person who usually attends this sort of gala. I’ve seen the way some people have been eyeing me and my rental suit all day.” At those words, Will’s eyes flash to Hannibal’s and his lips curl into a smirk before he looks away again.

 _Interesting,_ Hannibal thinks. He feels amused instead of chastised. It delights him to be insulted right in his face, the man rightly calling him out on his silent observations. 

“That’s how we met, actually,” Tobias chimes in. “A rather inte—” 

“Well,” Franklyn interrupts, his voice rising an octave higher. “I think it would be wonderful to discuss the opera with you in our sessions, Doctor Lecter.”

“Now, Franklyn, we must leave some mystery as to what we talk about in our sessions,” Hannibal warns him with a smile. “Unfortunately, Irene and I would need to leave soon. We do have some business matters to look over. It’s been a pleasure to meet all of you.”

“Likewise,” Tobias says with a steely gaze as Hannibal and Irene excuse themselves. 

"What exactly was that all about?” Irene huffs once they’ve cut across the hall of the gallery. “That poor patient of yours is friends with such a strange man!”

Hannibal hums; Tobias’s mask is rather poorly constructed, and the younger man seems to be reckless with his overt antagonism. “A rather strange encounter,” he agrees, patting Irene’s hand in a conciliatory gesture. 

“I wonder how Mr. Graham could stand to be in such a close relationship with him. He seems so cold,” Irene says distractedly, waving and smiling at the other patrons as the two of them make their way out of the art gallery and into the cool air outside.

Hannibal’s thoughts wander back to Will Graham then. For a man who seems to hate eye contact, there was a kind of challenge in Will’s expression when he caught Hannibal’s eyes during their conversation. His interest piqued once more, Hannibal’s mind remains occupied with the man for the rest of the evening.

Once Hannibal arrives at his Baltimore residence hours later, he goes about his nighttime routine and puts away his suit to send to the cleaners tomorrow before he goes through his ablutions. His thoughts are still revolving around a certain man, and he opens his tablet once he’s comfortably ensconced in his bed.

A quick search of “Will Graham” yields too many results. The name is too common for a simple search, especially for someone who doesn’t have a unique profession to set him apart. It takes Hannibal almost half an hour to realize that his name would not give him the information he desires. He closes his tablet then, thinking of Will’s seemingly peculiar relationship with Tobias. 

He wonders if Will sees the depths of Tobias’s darkness. Will had seemed comfortable enough with him, even with Tobias’s possessive hand on him. 

Of course, this is also a fruitless conjecture to make at this point, as he doesn’t really know either Tobias or Will to make a solid judgment of their characters.

Sighing, Hannibal closes his eyes and resigns himself to the thought of seeking the required information from his patient in the next few days.

Hannibal finds himself in the unique position of actually looking forward to his session with Franklyn today. In all the times he’s spoken with the other man, he never finds himself entertained by any of Franklyn’s neurotic outpours. He wonders if Franklyn has ever inadvertently talked about Will in some ways, though he doesn’t recall any mention of anyone other than Franklyn’s “friend”.

When Franklyn’s session starts, he predictably launches into a repeat of his gushing remarks about the opera performance once more. Hannibal indulges him for several minutes, letting the man enter into an entire spiel on his opinion of the opera. (True to form, Franklyn talks at length about the particular piece of aria that Hannibal had mentioned.)

Franklyn’s praises soon run out of steam, however — there’s only so many ways to describe how amazing the performance was after all — and there’s a lull in the session as Franklyn seems to gather his thoughts.

“Tell me about Tobias,” Hannibal says after minutes of silence. 

Franklyn’s eyes light up at the mention of Tobias’s name and he leans forward eagerly. “Did you like him? He was very interested in you. Not that I can blame him for that,” Franklyn chuckles. 

Hannibal crosses his legs and sits back into his chair, putting some distance between them. “He’s an interesting man,” he allows. 

Franklyn nods in satisfaction. “He’s my best friend, has been for a while.” His smile falls off his face after some reflection, however, and Franklyn sighs. “Though he’s been canceling his plans with me these days. He almost didn’t come to the show on Saturday. I bet it’s because of him.”

The last part was spoken in a bitter, hushed aside, though Hannibal heard it clearly all the same. Trying to hide his mounting excitement, Hannibal asks, “I assume you’re talking of Will Graham?”

The effect of that particular name is astounding; Franklyn’s usually temperate manner changes in an instant, the words pouring out of him as if a dam was suddenly broken. 

“Will Graham,” Franklyn spits out, scoffing as he leans back in his seat and rolling his eyes derisively. “Yes. He’s entered our lives only a few weeks ago, and Tobias just dropped me like I’m a sack of potatoes. You know, I’ve been friends with Tobias for years, and yeah he may have blown me off at times — okay maybe a lot of times — but in the end I know Tobias values our friendship. But then this guy just waltzes in like some kind of weird mechanic hotshot a few weeks ago and suddenly he’s all Tobias can talk about!

“We used to talk about you a lot, too, but now it’s Will this, Will that, and it’s just—” Franklyn cuts himself off on a groan. “Am I being neurotic again?”

Hannibal gives him a small smile, a caring gesture if Franklyn wants to see it as such. “If it’s cathartic for you to talk about it, by all means,” Hannibal encourages, letting the words trail off suggestively.

Franklyn heaves a heavy sigh, shaking his head. “It’s just— what is it about that man that has Tobias so interested in him anyway? I just don’t see it!”

Outwardly, Hannibal nods in agreement, though he amuses himself with the thought of how displeased Franklyn would be to find out that he is similarly fascinated by Will. He keeps his silence throughout Franklyn’s tirade, nodding and humming in all the right places until the man exhausts himself with his various complaints (most of them revolving around the sore point that Tobias has seemingly abandoned Franklyn for the past few weeks).

Throughout his emotional rant, it becomes apparent that Franklyn himself doesn’t know much about Will Graham beyond the fact that Will has been seeing Tobias for the last month at least. Since there wasn’t that much information that Hannibal could glean from this particular avenue, he decides to curtail Franklyn’s anecdotes of the many ways he’s been wronged by telling Franklyn that his hour is up.

(By Hannibal’s estimate, Franklyn has talked about Tobias and Will for forty minutes out of his slotted hour.)

By the time Hannibal ushers Franklyn out of his office, he thinks that he may have to pay a direct visit to Tobias’s establishment to satisfy his curiosity.

The bell above the door tinkles when Hannibal enters the Chordophone String Shop, and the music floating from the other room stops before Hannibal hears the shuffles of feet. 

Hannibal comes face to face with Tobias Budge three days after their first encounter with each other at the opera show. 

Tobias looks pleased at Hannibal’s appearance. “Doctor Lecter, was it?” Off Hannibal’s nod, he gestures Hannibal into the other room. “Come in and have a look around. I assume you came here to ask me about your strings?”

Hannibal follows him into the shop, and he’s surprised to see another person sitting at a desk in the far corner of the room. His breath stutters at the sight of Will Graham sipping coffee, seemingly unaware of Hannibal’s presence, and his attention is only called to Hannibal when Tobias speaks to him.

“Look who’s here,” Tobias says as he approaches Will. 

Hannibal savors the way Will blinks at him in surprise and he takes in Will’s appearance. Will is dressed casually today, his plaid shirt and jeans giving Hannibal the impression of a smartly-dressed lumberjack (only marginally better than the typical lumberjack attire Hannibal has seen). Though it’s not a fashion choice Hannibal would make for someone with such favorably soft features, on Will, the whole ensemble looks charming, though Hannibal carefully schools his expression to reveal nothing of his thoughts while he assesses the other man silently.

Will seems to have detected some of his thoughts regardless, eyebrows raising as he huffs in amusement. 

Tobias gestures to the cello at his side. “I was just playing one of Chopin’s nocturnes for Will before you came in.” He smiles at Will. “I was hoping to entice him into accompanying me on the piano.”

Hannibal raises his brow, filing away the information that Will apparently plays the piano. “I’m terribly sorry to have interrupted your serenade.”

Will snorts at that, though he avoids Hannibal’s questioning gaze, much to Hannibal’s disappointment. 

“Yes, well,” Tobias says, the smile on his face belying the fact that his eyes hold no such warmth. “Nothing we can’t do at another time.” _Without present company,_ Tobias’s smile seems to add. “What can I do for you today, Doctor?”

Hannibal smiles faintly. “I was told you carried the best strings in Baltimore, so I’ve come to ask you for recommendations for my harpsichord.”

“You could’ve called me first,” Tobias says, his gaze calculative.

“I’d much rather see the items in person first,” Hannibal replies easily. “Seeing is believing, as they say.”

“Indeed. Well, let me show the ones I have in stock, then.”

Tobias leads him around the shop while explaining the superior characteristics of the strings he carries. Hannibal half-listens to the man’s explanation, though his eyes stray to take in Will’s profile from time to time. Mentally shaking at himself for his distraction, Hannibal forces his focus on Tobias. 

“So if you’d let me know what kind of strings you’d prefer,” Tobias says, “I can give you a far more accurate quotation for your harpsichord. I’d need to see the instrument in question, of course.”

“Of course,” Hannibal agrees with a tilt of his head. “I should be free sometime this weekend. My weekdays are otherwise occupied, unfortunately.”

“I’ll see if we can work on the timing,” Tobias hums as he glances at Will. “I believe I would be occupied for this weekend; maybe in the upcoming month?” 

Hannibal stamps down the beginning of jealousy, berating himself for the thought. Who is Will Graham to him, anyway? He can hardly be jealous of other people spending some time with Will when he hardly knows the man.

“Of course,” Hannibal murmurs, smiling at Tobias. “I’ll give you a call next week, then, to see when your schedule is free.”

“Much obliged.” Tobias nods. “Will there be anything else?”

“No, I believe I’ve gotten what I needed,” Hannibal says. Turning to Will, he smiles. “Nice to meet you again, Will.”

Will doesn’t answer, blue eyes unblinking as he nods at Hannibal. 

Hannibal makes his way to the exit then, Tobias trailing behind him silently. “Thank you for your time, Tobias,” Hannibal says as he steps out to the pavement.

Tobias’s eyes are dark, his smile perfunctory as he waves. “Take care, Doctor Lecter. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”

As Hannibal turns away from the shop, his brain conjures up the sight of Tobias and Will playing their instruments side by side, serenading each other well into the night. He’s never felt this sort of emotions before, and it’s perplexing to think that all this was incited by a man he’s only spoken to for a few minutes. 

Deciding that he’s treading on a dangerous, unfamiliar path, Hannibal locks all thoughts related to Will Graham inside a room in his mind palace, determined not to think about the man or anyone associated with him anymore. 

It’s better not to let his emotions get the best of him, after all.

**Several weeks later**

Hannibal makes his way through the long hallways, tapping his identification card against the security keypad at the door before entering the forensic unit’s office space. Once inside, he strides into the morgue where he finds several people already in attendance, all of them standing around a long table where the evidence has been laid out. 

“I apologize for the delay,” Hannibal says when they turn to him. “There was a patient who required delicate handling.”

Jack Crawford, the Head of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit comes forward to shake Hannibal’s hand firmly. “It’s alright, Doctor Lecter,” he says, face set in a grim smile. “We were just getting started. I believe you’re well-acquainted with Doctor Bloom?”

“Of course,” Hannibal says with a smile at Alana Bloom. “I often have Alana over for our monthly dinners.”

Alana smiles in acknowledgment, waving at Hannibal from across the table. “It’s been a while since the last dinner, though,” she teases.

“I’ve been rather busy of late,” Hannibal admits, inclining his head in apology. 

“Doctor Lecter, this is the rest of the forensic team under the BAU,” Jack continues, gesturing to the other three people currently cataloging the evidence. “You’ve met them before, I’m sure: Beverly Katz, Jimmy Price, Brian Zeller.”

The three of them smile at Hannibal. He had met them in passing during the last meeting he’s had with Jack and Alana, but this is the first time he’d be working so closely with the rest of the BAU team.

“Pleasure to meet you.” Hannibal nods as he walks closer to the autopsy table to observe what has been laid out in front of them. Photos, reports, and autopsy records. “Though I wish we would’ve met under better circumstances, of course.”

Jack snorts. “If there were better circumstances, none of us would’ve ended up here.”

“Touché,” Hannibal says, smiling privately. “So this is the evidence you’ve had so far of the String Killer?” A rather unimaginative moniker courtesy of Freddie Lounds of _TattleCrime_ fame, but he supposes such is the way of life. 

“I hate that name; lacks some pizazz if you ask me,” Jimmy quips. “We do have fresh evidence for you, though. Well, as fresh as it can be by now anyway... Brought him out especially for you, at Jack's request.”

At that, Beverly gestures at another table behind them, where the corpse of the victim is laid out. Intrigued, Hannibal follows their gaze as they turn to the body. 

Hannibal’s brow raises as he takes in the scene, begrudgingly impressed. The victim’s throat has been flayed open to expose his whitened vocal cords, though that wasn’t what had drawn his attention when he first saw the body.

Fate, it seems, has other plans for Hannibal when he sees that the victim of the String Killer is none other than Tobias Budge.


	2. a second chance

Tobias Budge’s funeral is a small and hushed affair. 

Hannibal lurks behind one of the larger pillars as his eyes skim the crowd slowly populating the small church in downtown Baltimore. The casket on the altar is closed, and Tobias’s family is seated at the very front. An elderly woman is dabbing her cheeks with a handkerchief while an assortment of relatives surrounds her to offer comfort. 

Franklyn is quietly crying at one corner; he seems to be alone. The rest of the people in attendance is a mish-mash of people from different backgrounds, and all in all, Hannibal estimates that less than thirty people showed up to the funeral service. A respectable turnout for someone of Tobias's standing.

He amuses himself with the thought of the Baltimore elite circle descending upon his funeral, should the Chesapeake Ripper ever get caught. He imagines that most of them would pretend to be scandalized by the reveal, though they would attend the funeral despite (or perhaps because) of it in hopes of exchanging gossip and to get in a satisfied “I told you so” to their peers.

His idle musings are interrupted when the priest clears his throat as the service commences. His gaze strays once more into the crowd, seeking out the real reason he’s here today.

When Hannibal catches the sight of Will Graham’s dark, messy curls, he’s surprised at how fast the emotions he’s kept locked for the last few months come rushing back to him. Will is seated at the very back, his head bowed low as he listens to the priest’s sermon. From Hannibal’s vantage hiding point, he can barely make out the man’s disheveled appearance and the dark circles under Will’s eyes. Though the man looks like he’s part of the mourning crowd, the way he isolates himself from the rest of the funeral-goers tells Hannibal a different story.

Having seen enough, Hannibal silently exits the church from a side door and parks himself at the church’s main entrance for the next fifteen minutes, contemplating fate and circumstances as he stares at nothing in particular. He hasn’t thought of Will for months, but the locked room in his mind palace is now calling for his attention at the sight of the other man. The ferocity of his emotions almost makes him laugh. 

The service eventually ends, and Hannibal steps aside to make way for the pall-bearers. He makes himself as unobtrusive as possible as the crowd files out of the church to follow the pall-bearers to the burial site. He’s not surprised to see that Will has not joined the rest of the crowd. He waits outside until his curiosity gets the best of him.

Stepping into the church once more, his gaze immediately falls onto Will’s slumped form, the man still rooted in his seat. Will is the only person left in the church, staring at his hands in his lap and seemingly absorbed in contemplative silence. He stares at Will’s silhouette for a few seconds, wondering at his own intentions when his feet carry him forward in the next impulsive moment. 

Hannibal’s echoing tread seems to bring Will out of his reverie, the man straightening in his seat and turning towards him. Will’s eyes widen in recognition and mild surprise at the sight of him, and he’s rather pleased to see the blush spreading across Will’s cheeks. 

Hannibal pauses at the edge of the church pew Will is seated in, and he raises his brow in inquiry. 

Will catches on, his placid expression and small nod indicating his reluctant acceptance. No further invitation needed, Hannibal slips into the seat and positions himself as near to Will as he could manage while still giving the man some space should he need it. 

The silence settles around them and Hannibal takes the opportunity to study the altar and the church’s simple architecture. The rays of sunlight streaming through the glass windows highlight the dust motes floating in the air, and Hannibal admires the imageries in the stained glass. Though he’s far from religious, he can appreciate the beauty that emerges from these silent moments, their soft breathings the only sound he hears for a while.

“Are you here for absolution, too?”

Will’s quiet words surprise him somewhat; Hannibal would have thought he would be ignored until he decided to talk.

Hannibal turns to Will, whose eyes are now trained on the altar, looking distant. 

“Are you here for yours, or his?” Hannibal asks.

There’s a soft snort of laughter which Will tries to stifle immediately after, and he turns his gaze to Hannibal. His electrifying eyes a different shade of blue today. “Do you think I need absolution, Doctor?”

“It looks as if you require consolation instead of absolution, perhaps.”

Will’s eyes narrow. “Is that what this is?” A huff of disbelief. “Did Jack Crawford send you here to persuade me to go and see you for some sort of trauma therapy?”

Hannibal stills for a few seconds, pondering the meaning behind that. Though he had seen Jack only a few days ago, the man hadn’t said anything to Hannibal regarding Will.

Seeing his opening, however, Hannibal continues. “It doesn’t have to be therapy, though I do know that type of unburdening has been useful for many patients. We could have… conversations.”

Will is still eyeing him suspiciously, and he looks away before speaking. “And this conversation won’t make its way back to the FBI somehow?”

 _Curiouser and curiouser._ Hannibal wonders what sort of things Will could have to say that would make him wary of speaking with him. 

“No,” Hannibal answers. “Even if we were to only have casual conversations, doctor-and-patient confidentiality would still apply.” At least if things are going in Hannibal’s favor.

Will shakes his head with a soft sniff. “I had no idea the FBI would be doing this kind of thing pro-bono.” 

Hannibal doesn’t do anything to correct Will’s misconception. He keeps his eyes on the man, hope blooming in his chest as Will seems to think it over. 

“Or are you doing this out of the ‘kindness of your heart’?” Will continues, eyes boring into Hannibal’s unflinchingly. It’s the most direct eye contact Hannibal has had with him ever since that night at the opera so many months ago, and he savors it. 

Deciding on the truth, Hannibal answers, “I’m offering because I find you interesting.”

There’s a moment of silence then where Will looks as if he’s taken aback at the admission, and it’s only broken when Will snorts again, the expression pulling a smile out of Hannibal before he can stop it. 

“Well, at least you’re honest,” Will says, breaking their eye contact at last as he looks away, a small smile on his face. “I’ll think about it. Do you, uh, have a business card?”

Hannibal fishes it out of his pocket and hands it to Will silently, privately beaming at the victory. 

“I hope to see you soon, Will,” Hannibal says, sincerity clouding his tone. He rises out of his seat when Will takes the card and gives him a parting smile before he walks away.

Following his conversation with Will at the church, Hannibal calls Jack later that night for confirmation of his suspicion. 

Jack answers the phone and launches into his question without preamble. “Doctor Lecter, did you have any new insights on the killer?”

“Unfortunately no. I was calling to ask you if you’d spoken to Will Graham about me.”

A pause. “As a matter of fact, I did. But he didn’t seem to like the idea, so I didn’t think it was worth mentioning to you. Are you telling me he called you?”

“In a manner of speaking. He seemed to be willing to meet me once, at least.”

A soft sigh. “Well, can’t say I blame him. It couldn’t have been easy to see someone you know killed in such a gruesome way, though he seemed to be handling it better than most.”

Hannibal hums. “He doesn’t seem to be overly traumatized, though of course, these things do not necessarily manifest themselves in an obvious manner.”

“Right. Well. If he does come to you, his insights would be helpful to help us catch the killer...”

“I’m guessing your interrogation with him didn’t produce any valuable information?” 

“No. Apparently, he’s only known the guy for several months. We traced his movements for the past couple of months based on what he’d told us and his stories seemed to match, so there wasn’t much else to go on unless we find new evidence.” A considering hum. “You’ll let me know if he says anything that would help with our case, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course, Jack. I apologize, I have to go now, but I’ll let you know if I have any news of our killer.” 

Hannibal ends the call with a parting greeting, and he turns the conversation over in his head before he goes to sleep, pondering the conundrum that is Will Graham.

The next few days pass by in a mundane fashion, with Hannibal disappointed that Will has yet to call him. He doesn’t let the disappointment bleed into his work and other activities of course; even without Will’s fleeting presence in his life, he still manages to find enjoyment in his day-to-day interactions. 

For the moment, the String Killer case remains open, and Hannibal spends some time with Alana to go over the case in the last few days, the two of them enjoying their conversation and conjectures over dinner. He’s intrigued by the evidence — there were only two documented victims of the killer thus far (at least those that have been discovered), and there was a sense of escalation from the first victim to the next. 

The first victim, a Mr. Douglas Wilson, had been killed and displayed at the Baltimore Opera House. Although Hannibal had not been able to get a fresh look at both tableaux, he had seen enough from _TattleCrime_ and the subsequent evidence and autopsy reports from the BAU to appreciate the message behind it. In terms of artistry, it’s clear that the killer was emulating the Chesapeake Ripper’s kill in some manner, although there was also a hint of a challenge in the display which Hannibal did not deign to respond to when he had first deciphered the message through _TattleCrime._

In the end, the String Killer’s tableau had veered too much into the theatrical for Hannibal’s taste. Still, it’s the thought that counts and Hannibal is immensely flattered by the intended homage. 

Jack Crawford had only called him in to assist his team after Tobias Budge’s body was discovered. The BAU needed a second pair of eyes in addition to Alana’s, and Alana had recommended Hannibal. Needless to say, Hannibal had accepted immediately, although he waited until the next day to tell Jack so. 

“I must thank you for recommending me to Uncle Jack,” Hannibal says after dinner with Alana. The two of them are nursing their drinks in Hannibal’s living room, their conversation naturally segueing into their investigation.

Alana’s smile is warm, her cheeks flushed from the drink. “I gave him several names, but I admit I was personally hoping you would be roped in somehow.”

Hannibal chuckles. “I suppose you would be more comfortable with me joining the rest of the team, considering our history together.”

Alana hums while she sips her drink. “Jack must’ve thought so too. I guess he thought we would make a good team since we had a good working relationship.” A mischievous smile, then. “So how are you warming up to the job so far?”

“It’s been some time since my last experience as a surgeon,” Hannibal muses. “It’s come in useful now when I’m faced with the victim’s dead bodies.” At least ones that were not his making.

“Yeah, it must be something else to see the patients you’ve treated compared to these mutilated corpses, though.”

“Certainly,” he allows. “What did you think about the String Killer’s last kill compared to the first one? I assume you’ve spent some time with the first victim since you were brought onto the case earlier.”

Alana sighs. “Well, we didn’t think the killer would drop another body so fast, for one thing. We discovered the first one barely two weeks before Budge’s body dropped. It looks as if the unsub is escalating — perhaps hungry for more recognition since his first kill didn’t gain as much notoriety?” 

“Or perhaps he’s practicing and refining his skills? The cuts made into the second victim’s body shows more attention to details than the first.”

“It could be that, too,” Alana agrees, sighing again. “I just hope they don’t drop another body while we’re still figuring this one out.”

“Any potential suspects from whomever you’ve interviewed?”

“No, not really… It seems like Tobias Budge lives a pretty isolated life, apart from his job and his family. I don’t sense any overt hatred or anything like that from the people we’ve interviewed. Most of his acquaintances don’t seem to like him, to be honest, though that doesn’t necessarily point to any motivation. ”

Hannibal hums. “I recently became acquainted with him through a charity event, though it was a passing one.”

Alana looks surprised at the revelation. “Oh, you didn’t mention this at the BAU.”

“I thought it wasn’t relevant to the investigation. We barely spoke for ten minutes before I had to leave.”

“Huh. Well, I guess it makes sense that he runs around your circle, considering he was supplying his strings to half of Baltimore.”

“Yes. He was in attendance with Mr. Froideveaux and Mr. Graham at the time, as I recall.”

He watches Alana’s face intently for any expression, now that he’s finally getting to the point of this discussion. 

The surprise on her face is even more apparent at the mention of the two names. “I’ve interviewed both of them.”

“Oh?” Hannibal takes a sip of his drink, trying to hide his mounting excitement. “Was there anything particularly useful from either of them?”

“Well… truthfully, not really.” Alana smiles wryly. “Franklyn — I think that’s his name? — was a mess during the whole interview. Could barely get anything coherent out of him, and I think by the end of it even Jack gave up.”

“Ah, a pity then.”

“Yes… he seemed to be our best bet, after Will Graham, but both of their statements led to a dead end.”

“Mr. Graham was his partner, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, but he was away on some fishing trip at the estimated time of death. He had a log of his motel check-ins, a fishing permit, and a few receipts from his trip which showed that he wasn’t in Baltimore. Other than that, it seemed as if they got along pretty well, though I understand they’ve only been seeing each other for a few months.”

“I suppose he was as distraught as Mr. Froideveaux?”

“Seems a bit quiet,” Alana muses, her brows scrunching in remembrance. “An unassuming man who looks like he keeps to himself mostly. He wasn’t crying during the interview, though he does look a bit subdued. Understandable, considering the circumstances.”

Hannibal hums, imagining what Will would look like in the interrogation room. “It’s unfortunate that we don’t have more leads on this, then.”

Alana sighs. “Well. We have you on board now, so Jack is expecting great things out of the team.”

He lets out a wry chuckle at that. “Uncle Jack expects much from everyone, it seems.”

The night passes by pleasantly when Hannibal changes the subject on to lighter matters, though his thoughts are still on the case at hand.

Upon perusal of the records for the String Killer’s second victim for the past few days, he had noticed the differences in the tableaux despite the many similarities in terms of how the victim was killed and displayed. The display was more refined than the first had been, that much was clear. What was peculiar about this second victim was the intended message behind it. Where the first one had been a serenade to the Chesapeake Killer, the second one had read like a taunt. 

He keeps the insight to himself for now, letting Alana flounder on the message while the rest of the BAU struggle to thread the available evidence together to build a profile of their killer. Much can be said about the killer’s artistry, and he’s happy to give credit where it’s due: there’s almost no evidence which could be salvaged from the crime scene and the autopsies, at least not useful ones. The killer clearly knows what they’re doing.

For now, he needs more time to compare the tableaux to straighten out his suspicions. 

The two tableaux are at the forefront of his mind as he half-listens to Franklyn’s blubbering sobs the next day. It’s the first time they have met ever since Tobias was found dead by the String Killer’s hands, and Franklyn seems distraught as he speaks of his former friend.

“It’s just— if I had known he would be gone so soon, I would’ve done everything I could’ve, you know?” Franklyn blows his nose on the tissues. 

Hannibal inwardly sighs at the sight of these discarded tissues; he would need to sanitize his office later.

“He was so young!” Franklyn exclaims. 

A rather foolish thought. People die at all ages, after all. It’s the way of life. 

“We could’ve reconciled before he died.” Franklyn dabs his eyes with the tissues before reaching out for more. “I shouldn’t have made a big fuss about him deserting me for Will.”

“You mustn’t let grief overtake your senses, Franklyn,” Hannibal says eventually, eyeing the small dustbin that has now been filled by Franklyn’s used tissues. “It’s been three weeks since you have lost your friend, and though I understand you’re still grieving his loss, you must also look at it on the bright side: you are still alive. You mustn’t let death or the loss of a loved one stop your life in its tracks. Death is as good a reminder as any that life, too, must go on despite of it.”

Franklyn’s eyes are still watery, though he looks slightly heartened by Hannibal’s words. “That’s—” Franklyn sniffs, sighing. “I know you’re right. I just… I can’t help but think of the what-ifs…”

“Is there a point to continue beating yourself up over things that will never come to pass?” 

Franklyn shrugs helplessly. “Well, what else am I supposed to do?” 

“You should do the things that are within your control. There’s no use in thinking of things that would never come to fruition, or obsessing over the things you cannot change.”

Franklyn sighs, burrowing his face in his hands. He’s silent for a few minutes, and Hannibal is beginning to hope that the message will finally sink in. 

When Franklyn finally looks up, he looks pleadingly to Hannibal. “What do you usually do to get over the grief, Doctor Lecter?”

Sighing softly, Hannibal glances at the clock on his desk. “I’m afraid our hour is up, Franklyn. However, I will suggest that you use this time apart to think about what you can do to improve your situation.”

Hannibal ushers the morose man to the private exit, assuring Franklyn that they will meet again next week as scheduled. Really, Hannibal has to start thinking of referrals. Franklyn’s neurotic ways are no longer worth bearing with, especially with his heightened emotions and increasing dependency on Hannibal now that his dear friend is gone.

He’s too busy with this thought to notice that Franklyn — who was babbling about their upcoming appointment next week — has come to a sudden stop at the doorway.

Frowning, Hannibal looks past Franklyn and his heart jumps at the sight of Will Graham waiting in the vestibule leading to the exit. 

“What are _you_ doing here?” Franklyn bursts out after a short silence, voice trembling with resentment. 

Will’s brow furrows at the tone. He shoots an apologetic look at Hannibal before he turns to Franklyn. “I’m here to see Doctor Lecter,” he says quietly, avoiding eye contact.

Though Hannibal would usually chastise visitors with no prior appointments, especially those who stumble through the private exit, he can’t find it in himself to berate Will for showing up to his doorstep at last. He finds himself smiling and opening the door wider to beckon Will inside. 

“I was beginning to wonder if you would show up,” Hannibal says, smile soft and teasing. 

Franklyn turns to look at him with an aghast expression, stuttering. “B—but you’re my psychiatrist.”

Hannibal raises an eyebrow and quells further remarks from Franklyn with a look. “I’m still your psychiatrist”— _though maybe not for long_ —“but I am allowed to see other people as well, Franklyn.”

Ignoring Franklyn for now, Hannibal steps aside to let a bemused Will pass into his office, though he takes pity on Franklyn. “I’ll see you next week. Think about what we’ve discussed, please.”

With that, he closes the door and turns back to the man he’s been most anxious to see. 

Will has walked into the middle of the office, his gaze turned to the loft which houses Hannibal’s books and journals, looking at them with wonder and curiosity. He turns to Hannibal at the sound of the closed door, smiling faintly. 

His fashion sense, Hannibal notes, remains unchanged. Dressed in casual plaids and jeans, Will certainly doesn’t look like Hannibal’s typical clientele. He looks as if he’s stumbled into Hannibal’s office by accident. It’s probably not that far from the truth, judging by the way the man uncomfortably shifts, looking to Hannibal for a cue.

Hannibal gestures to the chairs in the middle of the room and waits for Will to take a seat before he follows suit. Will has chosen the chair that faces the door to the exit — predictable, almost endearingly so.

Will glances around the office once more, looking lost. “Uh, hello, I guess,” he says eventually, leaning back in his chair. “I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t even know how to start this off.”

Settling himself more comfortably in his chair, Hannibal crosses his legs and offers a reassuring smile. “There’s no protocol when we’re just having conversations, is there?” The reminder seems to settle Will somewhat, though he still looks uncomfortable. “What made you decide to come?” 

Will shrugs, his eyes trained on Hannibal’s knees. “I’m… honestly, I’m not sure.”

“We have some time to figure it out.” Hannibal smiles. “How are you feeling?”

Will’s legs jiggle, trying to disperse his nerves in any way he can. “I’m managing, but it hasn’t been easy. Took some time off and visited my friend to get my mind off of things. I’m still trying to work this whole thing out if I’m being honest.”

Hannibal hums in understanding. “Yes, dealing with a loss can be difficult. I suppose I haven’t offered my condolences just yet. I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sure you feel Tobias’s death keenly.”

Will blinks silently for several seconds before he huffs. “Oh. No, that’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then?”

Will laughs dryly. “I can deal with loss. It’s just this whole... I’m not that comfortable with psychiatrists and the concept of therapy.”

Ah, so that’s where the discomfort is coming from. Interestingly enough, Will doesn’t seem too torn at the mention of Tobias’s name.

“Are we doctor and patient, or are we just having conversations?” 

“Yeah, I got that the first time,” Will says, laughing again. “It’s hard to break old habits I guess.”

“Did you used to see a therapist?”

“Used to see a bunch of them when I was a teenager until I wised up and learned to keep everything to myself.” The begrudging admission seems to cost Will; his lips are set into a scowl as he looks away to the tall windows, his body growing more rigid as if to defend himself against the observations that he knows is coming. 

“You managed to trick your therapists into thinking that your problems have been resolved by observing and learning the tricks to therapies, then,” Hannibal muses. “An admirable skill to attain at such a young age.”

Sighing, Will turns to meet Hannibal’s eyes for a fleeting second. “I might as well just tell you since you might find out anyway. I have an empathy disorder, or so that’s what all those psychiatrists have been telling me, so take what you will from that.”

Hannibal tilts his head and doesn’t bother to hide the smile blooming on his face. “An interesting facet of you that I’ve been glad to learn, thank you. But you’re not here for your empathy disorder, Will. We can talk about anything you want; things that might be weighing on you after Mr. Budge’s unfortunate demise.”

Another inelegant snort. “That’s a way to put it, I guess.”

Hannibal is surprised when Will suddenly shoots to his feet, his brows raising in question.

“Sorry, just… do you mind if I just walk around the office?” Will shuffles his feet. “I get restless if I just sit in the psychiatrist chair.”

“It reminds you too much of your previous sessions.”

“Yeah, that, or PTSD, whatever you want to call it,” Will huffs as he walks to Hannibal’s desk.

Hannibal allows it, his eyes following Will’s movement. When the man stops at the desk to peer at the files stacked on it, he belatedly realizes that he has yet to put away the files on the String Killer’s case, as he wasn’t expecting any other patient after Franklyn. Curious, Hannibal watches Will’s expressions as realization dawns on the man’s face when he observes the titles on the files.

“Why do you have files on the String Killer?”

Hannibal smiles. “I see you read _TattleCrime_ as well.”

Will’s face twists into a grimace. “Hard not to, with the way Freddie Lounds has been hounding me for an interview after— well. I had to see what her website was all about. Tasteless.”

Hannibal hums. “Her articles are rarely palatable,” he agrees. “But she does manage to get some things right occasionally.”

“No doubt after trampling over evidence and obtaining them illegally,” Will says derisively, glaring at the files as if it personally offended him. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m a consultant for the BAU,” Hannibal relents, watching Will’s face closely.

Will’s eyes rise to meet his, blushing at the scrutiny. “I didn’t realize… I thought you were just a psychiatrist under the BAU. If I’d known—” Will cuts himself off, seeming to realize his mistake before he turns away and walks to the tall windows instead.

If he’d known what? 

Though curiosity burns inside Hannibal at the slip, he also knows how to bide his time. Will is just beginning to warm up to the idea of their conversations, it wouldn’t do if Hannibal pushed him away with probing questions so soon. Not when things are beginning to look interesting.

So he keeps his silence, and he waits.

He waits until Will feels comfortable enough to make his way back to the middle of the room, his gaze lingering on the files.

“Would you like to have a look?” Hannibal offers. 

Will’s gaze snaps to his, looking curious and suspicious all at once. “Are you allowed to show civilians private and confidential files?” he challenges, eyebrow raised.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Hannibal says, flashing a conspiratorial smile. “Besides, it’s nothing you wouldn’t have seen from _TattleCrime._ I don’t bring everything with me to this office. These were for… a mental exercise.”

Will’s expression is still dubious, though he does approach the desk once more, his hand hovering over the file. 

In truth, Hannibal probably shouldn’t be showing these files to anyone else, but… he’s curious to see what Will would make of the case, especially with the knowledge that the man has an empathy disorder. Would it make it easier for him to slip into the mind of the killers, or would he shy away from it?

Will seems to come to a decision then. He opens the files to sift through them briefly, feigning nonchalance as his eyes take in the information. It only takes a few minutes before Will closes the files once more and returns them to the pile, his expression grave. 

His mood somber now, Will saunters back into his seat, slumping into it with a sigh. “Are you any closer to catching the guy who did this to him?”

Hannibal stares at Will, trying to decipher his tone and intention. While Will looks sincerely despondent at the loss of a former paramour, he doesn’t seem to be too deeply affected at seeing the photos of Tobias’s mutilated corpse. Indeed, he doesn’t seem to be all that affected by the seemingly gruesome images at all. Though Will is no longer jittery, he’s slumped against the seat in a perfect picture of defeat.

An affectation, or truly defeated?

He’s becoming dangerously interested in this man.

“No,” Hannibal eventually replies. “We have yet to uncover any new evidence since Mr. Budge was found.”

“So you don’t have a profile on this killer?”

“Not a complete one, no,” Hannibal admits. “We have some ideas, but you’ll understand that I can’t share them with you.”

“Of course,” Will says with a nod. “The two killings don’t seem… odd to you?”

Hannibal raises a brow, setting his laced hands on his lap as he leans forward in his seat. “In what way were they odd?”

Will shrugs nonchalantly, still avoiding his gaze. “It doesn’t seem to be the same killer, looking at the way they’re killed and displayed.”

He shows nothing of the intrigue and surprise in his body language or expression. In truth, the idea that there are two different killers has been percolating in his mind for the past few days considering the differences in the tableaux, and his conviction strengthens at Will’s words.

Hannibal assesses the man before him once more. Though he looks unassuming, there’s a certain confidence to him that he takes pain to disguise somehow, and he seems certain that his views are right.

“Did you glean all these in just minutes due to your empathy disorder?”

Will’s posture turns rigid then, though his expression hasn’t changed. “I guess you could say that,” he admits softly, his eyes now fixed on the door behind Hannibal.

Hannibal smiles and relents. He leans back into his seat, making himself comfortable once more. “I’ll be sure to consider your suggestions, then. So tell me, how have you been coping with the loss of your partner?”

Will looks surprised at the change of topic, though he grasps onto it immediately. “It’s… it’s been a lot, I guess. But I’ve only been seeing him for three, four months, I guess? It’s… we were close, but we were still in that honeymoon phase of trying to get to know each other, you know?”

A pulse of jealousy rises at the mention of Will’s past relationship with Tobias, which he pushes aside in favor of continuing their conversation, treading back to more navigable topics. Though they only talk about inconsequential things throughout the remaining session, Hannibal relishes the undercurrent of tension tinging their conversation.

There is certainly something more to Will Graham than what he has deigned to show so far, and Hannibal directs all of his focus on this enigmatic man, determined to unravel him thread by thread.


	3. an invitation

Hannibal spends the next few days recollecting his talk with Will, pleased with the outcome. 

Will’s demeanor had loosened up the longer he talked with Hannibal in their first session together. By the time they realized the time, their session had been thirty minutes longer than the intended hour they initially agreed on. Will had looked surprised, looking almost embarrassed that he had been so absorbed in the conversation. Evidently, he had enjoyed it more than he’d let on.

Hannibal was pleased to receive confirmation that Will was willing to meet him again next week. He’s looking forward to further interaction with the man, and the promise of it carries him through the week.

Today, he’s been called for a meeting along with Alana by Jack Crawford, even though there were no new findings based on the ongoing investigation. He and Alana are sitting in Jack’s office, looking expectantly at Jack as they wait for their meeting to begin. He has a feeling that Jack is curious about Will, considering their last telephone conversation. 

Hannibal is not surprised to have his suspicion confirmed when Jack launches into the heart of the matter right away.

“So,” Jack begins, glance flitting between Hannibal and Alana. “I’m just here to let you know that there haven't been any new updates regarding the String Killer investigation since we’ve last met. Though I understand there has been a recent development with regards to someone who had close relations with the second vic.”

Smiling at the inelegant (though undoubtedly efficient) segue, Hannibal inclines his head in acknowledgment. At Alana’s questioning look, Hannibal says, “I met with Will Graham last week.”

“Oh.” Alana blinks rapidly, clearly surprised. “I wasn’t aware of this. I thought we’d agreed not to force him into it, Jack?”

“Yes, Doctor Bloom,” Jack says with a weary sigh. “I did leave him alone after suggesting he meet with Doctor Lecter since he didn’t seem to be too interested in the idea.”

Alana frowns and turns to Hannibal. “So how did your meeting with Will come about?”

“He approached me,” Hannibal replies smoothly. A lie that Alana and Jack wouldn’t have the chance to discover, hopefully. “I wasn’t aware that I was recommended at all.”

Alana sighs and sends a resentful glare to Jack. “I advised Jack against it because I didn’t think we had any right to force someone who wasn’t personally involved in this case to be coerced into meeting with the profilers who are working on said case.”

Jack shrugs. “You two are psychiatrists first and foremost.”

“It’s a very fine line to cross, Jack, and you know it,” Alana retorts, mouth pursed in a moue of displeasure. 

“Well, since Will was the one who sought Doctor Lecter out, I don’t see why we’re still talking about this moot point,” Jack says, his expression getting darker. He turns to Hannibal. “Do you have anything useful for us?”

Hannibal ponders for a moment whether he should divulge the content of his conversation with Will, especially considering Will’s interesting empathy disorder and his particular insight on the possibility of two different killers. It would be interesting to see what Jack would do with that kind of information, but it would also mean Jack interfering with his budding relationship with Will.

In the end, his selfishness wins out over his curiosity.

“We mostly spoke of his trauma and grief,” Hannibal says. “Will Graham looks as if he’s been having trouble coming to terms with Budge’s death, and our conversation reflected that. Other than that, we didn’t venture into specifics of the case, as I felt that civilians should not be privy to the details of an ongoing investigation.”

Alana smiles in approval. “I’m glad you’re helping him through this.”

Jack, however, looks disappointed at the lack of information. He sighs and sits back in his chair, looking pensive. “He might be the only lead we have left. Otherwise, we’d have to wait until the killer drops another body, which I would rather not have for obvious reasons.”

Alana looks discomfited at the thought, while Hannibal considers the possibility of another tableau from this killer. After his talk with Will, his supposition of two distinct killers has solidified into certainty, and he’s certain that he would be able to steer Alana and Jack into the same thinking.

“Even though my talk with Will wasn’t too fruitful,” Hannibal begins after a contemplative silence, “I did have another look at the files, and I noticed some interesting deviations in terms of how Budge was killed and displayed when I compared it to Douglas Wilson’s body.”

Eyebrows rising, Jack looks energized once more as he leans his elbows on his desk. “Really, doctor? Please, share your findings with us.”

Hannibal does, relishing how Jack and Alana hang on to his words. “Though we’ve previously put it down to escalation, I think the differences we observed between the killings and the message behind them can also be because we might be dealing with two different killers.”

Alana’s brow furrows. “How did you come to that?”

“Perhaps it would be easier to explain if we look at the forensics evidence we have as well,” Hannibal suggests. “I think if we detail out and compile the similarities and differences of these two files — it would be easier to see the pattern, or the non-existence of such patterns if we lay it out on the table there.”

Jack looks thoughtful, and he sighs in resignation as he nods. “Well, it’s not like we’ve got a new lead. I suppose it’s worth it to look at this from a new angle. I’ll call the team in; I’m sure we could use their expertise.”

Pleased, Hannibal merely smiles in acknowledgment and waits for Jack to call the forensics team. It’s always wonderful to see the pieces falling into place, with him as the conductor of this particular piece. 

The resulting meeting drags on for a few hours, though the team comes out from it with a lighter mood, invigorated by the new angle they’re pursuing. By the end of their discussion, most of them had been convinced — if not at the existence of two different killers, at least to the possibility of it.

Truthfully, however, there’s little that the BAU can do even with this new information. There’s very little to go on for them to profile the second killer, which the BAU has dubbed as the Copycat Killer due to the intentional way Tobias’s body was set up similarly to Wilson’s displayed body. He and Alana had been tasked to draw up the profile regardless of what Hannibal thinks; Jack was insistent on it. 

In private, Hannibal is thrilled to discover these emerging talents. Baltimore has been dull as of late. He hasn’t had a chance to create the tableaux he’s so fond of for the last two years, trying to lay low to avoid detection from the FBI after Miriam Lass had stumbled upon him. Pity, really; he had so many wasted opportunities. 

Now, with two possible killers on the loose, Hannibal’s excitement rises at the thought of a challenge.

Perhaps he might add to the body count. Jack seems to be waiting for it, after all.

On Friday evening at exactly 7.30 pm, Hannibal opens the door to his office and smiles at the man currently occupying the waiting room.

“Good evening, Will,” Hannibal says. “Come in. You’re right on time.”

Will returns the smile reluctantly as he makes his way inside. Seeing the jacket hanging on Will’s arms, Hannibal extends a hand out in offer before hanging it on the coat rack. The jacket is entirely unobtrusive, utilitarian almost, the smell of a strong aftershave lingering on it. His nose twitches at the smell. Perhaps he can introduce a different brand for Will once they grow more comfortable with each other.

Will has taken his usual seat without prompting, and his legs jiggle as he waits for Hannibal.

Instead of sitting down, Hannibal makes his way to the cabinet where he keeps his drinks. “Would you like anything to drink?”

Craning his neck to look at Hannibal, Will looks surprised and then amused. “Doesn’t that seem a bit unprofessional?”

Hannibal smiles and takes out two glasses before he pours the decanted wine, all ready for Will’s arrival. “Since this is not an official therapy session, the normal rules need not apply. Would a Sauvignon Blanc suit you?”

“I have no idea,” Will laughs. “I’m a whiskey guy myself. But sure, I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

Will takes the offered glass hesitantly, observing Hannibal for cues before he follows suit.

Hannibal drinks his wine, pleased at having Will’s attention, even if it’s for such an innocuous reason. He lets the taste of the wine coat his tongue before he sets his drink aside. Will, watching him closely while he takes his time with his drink, mirrors his movement and sits straighter in his chair, looking expectant.

Hannibal smiles. “Your empathy works in interesting ways.”

Will casts his glance away at the observation, a faint flush rising on his cheeks. “It’s unconscious sometimes,” he admits begrudgingly. 

“There’s no need to feel embarrassed about it, then.” 

“I’m not embarrassed, just…” Will sighs. “I get defensive when people try to psychoanalyze everything I do, so. Can you… dial it down a bit?”

Hannibal grins at the request. “I apologize. Like you, sometimes it’s unconscionably done. I can’t seem to turn it off so easily, so I suppose I should use my apologies sparingly.”

That brings a smile out of Will. “You weren’t always a psychiatrist, were you?”

“And how did you come to that conclusion?”

Will’s laugh is a sharp and sarcastic sound. “See, most psychiatrists would say that it’s an extension of my disorder, whatever that means. But really, I just rely on observations. There are so many things that we can glean from others just from observations, don’t you think?”

Hannibal tilts his head. “I’m inclined to agree, though I would also argue that your empathy gives you an extra advantage to notice things that most would instinctively dismiss. Our brains can hardly process everything all at once, after all. If we were to take in everything we can at one time, we would be inundated with too much information for the brain to process accurately and efficiently.”

“I don’t see my empathy as an advantage, but whatever you say,” Will smirks. “You’re the psychiatrist, after all.”

“I’m not sure why you keep on painting me as a psychiatrist in this scenario. Are we not just having friendly conversations?”

Will shrugs. “I’m not sure how friendly this could be. We’re both sitting in this chair as if we’re having a therapy session right now, aren’t we? You’re psychoanalyzing me and my feelings; that’s what you did last week, too. Doesn’t seem ‘friendly’ to me.”

Hannibal hums and swirls his glass before he takes a sip. “Perhaps a change of venue would be more conducive to aid you in thinking of this as more than a purely intellectual transaction, then?”

Will lets out a disbelieving laugh, eyes crinkling with mirth. “Is that why you brought out the wine? Trying to loosen my mind and my tongue so I forget that this is your practice?”

“Perhaps. Would a venue change be more beneficial?”

“To me, or to you?” 

“There’s no reason it can’t be mutually beneficial.”

Will considers that. “Hypothetically, where would this venue be?”

“I’m told that I make a performance out of my meal preparation and presentation.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of that particular skill,” Will says, smiling despite his wariness.

Hannibal returns the smile. “Then perhaps you would like to see it in action? We can have our conversations over dinner at my house if it makes you feel better.”

“Are you asking if you can wine and dine me?”

“Perhaps not in such crude terms, but if it pleases you to think of it in that manner, then by all means.”

Will’s eyes glint with amusement. “I’m onto you, Doctor Lecter. I know when I’m being laughed at.”

“I wouldn’t dare do something so discourteous.”

“No, you just silently judge others with that same placid smile on your face.”

“You wound me, Will.”

“No, I didn’t.” Will snorts. “You’re just as amused by this whole situation.”

“Perhaps, but I am sincere in my offer.”

Will leans back in his seat, laughing softly. “You know what, sure, why not. It’s not like my life can get any stranger than this.”

Satisfied, Hannibal gives him a wide smile. “I’m sure there are worse things than having strange things happen to you. What a dull life it would be if everything is perfectly normal.”

Hannibal is expecting the call when he answers the phone. It’s been more than a day since he staged his kill, and it only took Freddie Lounds eight hours to upload an exposé of the latest “alleged” String Killer’s victim on _TattleCrime._ Hannibal had admired the photos she had appended. Even if the contents of her article border on the libelous, he could at least admit that Lounds has a talent in feeding into the public’s mass frenzy. 

“Jack,” Hannibal answers. “I assume this is about the latest body I saw on _TattleCrime?_ ”

A loud sigh on the other end. “One of these days, I’m going to have words with Freddie Lounds.”

Hannibal merely hums, waiting.

“I’ve already called Doctor Bloom in for this evening. I’m hoping you’d be available as well.”

“Of course,” Hannibal answers. “I have my final patient in another half an hour. I’d be happy to join you afterward.”

“Thank you, doctor, I appreciate it.”

Hanging up, Hannibal spares another glance at the _TattleCrime_ article in question before he puts his tablet aside. Now that that particular issue has been sorted out, he’s free to think of more important matters at hand: the meal he’s planning for his dinner with Will next Friday evening. 

Patrick Reynolds was a particularly healthy and robust man, so Hannibal is planning a meal around the man’s liver and kidneys in particular. Anticipation rises at the thought of Will biting into the meat Hannibal will prepare for him with painstaking care. The thought of broadening Will’s palate without the man knowing it makes him smile. 

Will has been thawing slowly, becoming more open with Hannibal in light of their recently growing camaraderie. Though the man can be abrasive (and bordering on rude at times) Hannibal finds himself enjoying their verbal parries. Even without the draw of Will’s extra mirror neurons, he senses Will’s potential. 

Though Will has expressed some sort of sadness over the death of Tobias Budge, he doesn’t seem too overly affected by the whole ordeal. Understandable, perhaps, considering Will was only involved with the man for several months, though Hannibal still noted the cavalier way Will had looked at the String Killer’s files during that first session. Will seems like someone who was used to such macabre displays, given how unflinchingly he had looked at the detailed photos of Budge’s mutilated throat. 

He ponders on this pleasant distraction as he drives to Quantico a few hours later, wondering what Will would reveal were he to poke at this lurking potential during their dinner. 

Once he arrives at Quantico, he presents a somber appearance as he meets with Jack and the rest of the team who were already gathered at the laboratory, the discussion already underway as Hannibal approaches them.

Jack’s heavy frown is directed at the latest body that Lounds has uncovered in the latest series of killings that the BAU has the misfortune to process. Patrick Reynolds lays on the autopsy table, his upper torso splayed open from navel to throat. The torso is hollowed, missing organs highlighting Hannibal’s handiwork: part of Reynolds’ sternum bones have been painted black in alternate patterns to resemble— 

“—a piano,” Beverly says with a flourish. “Seems to be the most obvious answer here if we’re following the String Killer’s trail. It’s a pretty crude version of one — a human body only has so many bones to turn into piano keys — but it’s as good as a connection as any.”

Jack heaves a sigh and turns to Hannibal. “What do you think, Doctor Lecter? Hell of a piano if you ask me.”

Hannibal observes the body in detail, even though he’s intimately familiar with Mr. Reynolds by now. He doesn’t have to pretend to be disgusted by the smell of a decaying body; though he had adjusted to the scent over the last few decades, his heightened sense of smell still balks at the whiff of Mr. Reynolds’ putrid odor. 

Sniffing, Hannibal turns his gaze to Jack. “There’s some merit to Beverly’s conjecture, especially if we take into account the previous cases.”

“Right, but then the question remains why,” Alana muses, absorbed in the display before them. “What’s the message behind this one beyond the whole theme of turning people into musical instruments?”

“Who can say?” Jimmy says, shrugging. “Serial killers make neither rhyme nor sense most of the time.”

“Is that a fucking pun?” Brian says with mild disbelief. 

“What, because ‘rhyme’ relates to the piano—”

 _“Boys.”_ Beverly’s stern voice cuts through the conversation.

“You’d also have to take into account the way the body was displayed,” Hannibal says, smiling at the way Beverly handles her two colleagues. “Perhaps there’s a message hidden in there.”

“You’ve seen the photos, of course,” Jack says, gesturing to the board which was covered with photos of the last three displays. “Lounds made sure everyone saw it, too,” Jack grumbles as he makes his way to the board, Hannibal shadowing him. 

He surveys the three photos of the different tableaux with some satisfaction. If there were more human instruments on the board, they could perform a macabre orchestra, Hannibal muses. Though perhaps a dirge would be more appropriate for the victims. 

There are three tableaux with three killers at its helm, and Hannibal savors the fact that he’s the one who has been tasked to profile them all. A beautiful irony.

“The third man was displayed at the same location as the first victim?” Hannibal asks.

“Yes,” Jack sighs. “I heard the owner of the opera house had called for an exorcism.”

“Can’t say I blame them,” Hannibal hums. He turns to Alana. “Have you concluded why the third victim was hung in the middle of the stage?” 

“Other than to freak the janitor out?” Brian says, chuckling at his own joke.

Alana gives him a strained smile before turning to Hannibal. “No. The way he’s suspended by catgut strings seems to suggest that this is the String Killer, though. He used the strings on Douglas Wilson, didn’t he?”

“I never knew catgut strings could be so tough,” Jimmy quips, frowning. “That guy must’ve been held up for hours!”

“Catgut strings can be tougher than steel wire, if you have the know-how,” Beverly explains. Off the look from the other members of the team, she shrugs. “What? I told you I was a violin nerd.”

Hannibal merely hums at Alana’s theory. It’s an obvious conclusion to come to, and he wonders if he should let them continue to think that this was the String Killer. After all, they deserve to be wrong if the FBI’s greatest minds couldn’t decipher such a simple message.

“I do have a question though: do we know what happened to the organs?” Alana asks, looking at Reynolds’ hollowed out torso. “There was no organ removal from the previous kills.”

_Attagirl._

Jack has gone uncharacteristically silent at Beverly’s question as everyone else turns to peer at the cavity in Reynold’s torso. There’s a sense of dawning realization descending over Beverly, Jimmy, and Brian and they turn as one to regard Jack, their expressions varying from worried (Beverly) to wary (Brian).

“Did we ever find the organs anywhere?” Jack’s quiet tone belies the anger in his expression.

Beverly sighs, her shoulders slumping. “No,” she says, shaking her head. 

“What are the organs missing?” Jack queries.

Jimmy pokes into the torso carefully. “Looks like his liver, kidneys, pancreas, and spleen are gone.”

Jack heaves a sigh, his gaze wandering around in frustration. 

After another heavy silence descends before Jack speaks again, his voice tight with tension. “Is there a possibility that we’re dealing with the Chesapeake Ripper?”

Beverly, Jimmy, and Brian exchange looks, their expressions heavy. 

“Well, from the way these cuts are made, we can see that the unsub knows exactly how to cut Reynolds,” Beverly replies, gesturing to the body. “So the person who did this has some anatomical knowledge. They’re good at it too, looking at how precise these cuts are.”

“Mutilated body put on display in the most flamboyant manner possible,” Brian says, casting nervous glances to Jack as he speaks. “Anatomical knowledge, dissecting skills, and organ removals.”

“I gotta admit, that’s a lot of uncomfortable overlapping with the Ripper kills when you put it like that,” Jimmy says. 

“Great,” Jack sighs, his voice going louder at Jimmy’s pronouncement. “So you’re telling me we have three killers on our hand.” 

“It’s certainly a possibility, considering the evidence,” Hannibal says from his corner, hiding his satisfied smile as he stares at the whiteboard, feigning absorption. “Though the killers have one theme in mind, you can see the differences in the execution.”

“Just great.” Jack lets out a loud exhale, shaking his head. “Of all the times the Ripper could’ve chosen to reappear.”

“Assuming it really is the Ripper, something could have triggered him back into action,” Alana says. “Maybe he’s not happy at the other killer’s efforts. Or maybe he just wants to be in the limelight again, and he’s trying to put the other killers back in their place.”

While Alana is not entirely incorrect, Hannibal can’t help but be disappointed once again at the misinterpretation of his message. No matter. He’s only hoping that the killers he’s trying to establish contact with would be more intelligent than the bureau.

“Doctor Bloom, Doctor Lecter,” Jack calls out, “do you have your profiles for the Copycat Killer?” 

“I’ve compiled it for you,” Alana says, pulling out a file from her briefcase and handing it to Jack. “Though I should probably include the caveat that we don’t have all that much on the killer beyond what we’ve already told you.”

Jack nods, sighing as he skims the file. “It would have to do for now. I think I’m developing a headache at the thought that we might have a Ripper kill on our hand. Are you two acquainted with the Chesapeake Ripper files?”

Alana shakes her head. “No, nothing beyond what I know from the press releases.” She turns towards Hannibal. “Actually, Hannibal was the one who discouraged me from working on the profile for the Ripper, now that I think about it. That was… two years ago?”

Hannibal tilts his head. “Yes. I’m glad I’d discouraged you from it, considering what happened to the last person investigating the Ripper case.” 

Though he wasn’t directly involved with the FBI investigations into the Ripper at the time, Alana had been most forthcoming with news of the aftermath of Miriam’s disappearance. He was thankful that Miriam had become embroiled with Jack's machinations somehow. It would have been a shame to kill Alana, not least because she's a powerful ally to have with regards to her strong ties to the FBI.

Now, he savors Jack’s darkening gaze and the way his jaw clenches at the reminder of what happened to Miriam Lass. It’s a low, subtle blow, though he can’t feel guilty over it, not when Jack shows such strong reactions.

“Right,” Alana says quietly, brow furrowing. “Sorry, Jack. We’ve all heard the rumors.”

Jack stays silent, though his glare looks as if it could kill. 

“Do you need the Ripper files?” Beverly asks, breaking the heavy tension, her gaze shifting from Jack to Alana. “I can bring them out from the archives.”

“Yes, I’d appreciate that,” Jack replies with a heavy sigh before he turns back to Alana and Hannibal. “I’ll bring you up to speed with the Ripper case. We’re going to need all the help we can get if the Chesapeake Ripper is back.”


	4. the first taste

The rest of the week floats by pleasantly as Hannibal considers his victory. Not only did he manage to persuade Will to meet him for dinner at his house, but he had also broken his Ripper silence after two years and managed to insinuate himself into the investigation in one fell swoop.

Truly, he couldn’t have planned for a better outcome.

With Friday evening looming before him, he focuses his mind on his upcoming dinner with Will. By six in the evening, Hannibal is already sizzling the liver and kidneys on the frying pan, the smell wafting from the meal heightening his ebullient mood. When dinner time finally rolls around, Hannibal waits for the telltale sound of his doorbell as he sets the finishing touches to desserts. 

Will knocks on the door a few seconds before 7.30 pm. Hannibal gives him a warm smile when he opens the door to let him in, pleased at the man’s punctuality.

“Good evening, Will,” Hannibal says, offering to doff Will’s coat for him. 

Will submits to it hesitantly, looking nervous. “Good evening,” he says. “Uh, sorry I didn’t bring anything for today. I wasn’t sure of the exact protocol for our meetings…”

“They’re merely conversations, remember?” Hannibal smiles, turning away to busy himself with Will’s coat. 

Will looks a little unsure of himself as he makes his way in, looking around the vestibule. He’s silent as he follows Hannibal to the dining room, taking everything in. His nerves seem to increase when he’s in unusual or foreign territories; Hannibal’s house falls into the latter category for Will’s sensitivities. 

Smiling, Hannibal gestures to a chair. “Have a seat, Will. The meal is ready. I’ll be bringing them out shortly.”

Will takes a seat, looking around at the dining room. “An interesting setup,” he comments as his eyes slide from  _ Leda and the Swan  _ over the fireplace to the herb wall behind him. “The contrast is a fascinating choice.”

Hannibal smirks and inclines his head, choosing not to comment as he moves to the kitchen to bring out their meal. Will’s gaze is curious when Hannibal returns with them in hand, placing one in front of Will with a flourish. 

“Liver and kidneys with honey glazed onions, with a side of sauteed vegetables and roasted garlic potatoes,” Hannibal announces, smiling at Will’s raised eyebrow. “I’ve taken the liberty of pairing it with a red wine tonight.”

“What, you’re not going to announce the name of the wine that would probably cost an arm and a leg?” Will teases, eyeing the meal in front of him. “I feel like I’m underdressed for this. You didn’t tell me this was going to be a whole fine dining experience.”

Hannibal places his meal on the table setting and takes a seat across from Will, smiling at the man’s teasing tone. “Irene did mention that my dinners are always a performance.”

The mention of Irene Komeda seems to amuse Will. He’s likely recollecting the moment he and Hannibal first met each other. “I didn’t think I’d merit such a performance. We’re just having conversations after all, as you like to remind every so often.”

“I believe you benefited from the periodic reminder,” Hannibal says smoothly, picking up his glass of wine and scenting it before taking a sip. “It helps you to relax, once you think of it in less official terms.” 

“Yeah, this five-star treatment is… still a bit jarring for someone like me, sorry,” Will laughs, shaking his head. 

“I would’ve thought Tobias would deliver the same standards,” Hannibal says with an arched brow. 

Will hums, his fingers stroking over the dinner knife in front of him in a distracted manner. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that he doesn’t quite run in your particular social circle. We’re more of a working-class people.”

“Was the opera show at the gallery your first such outing?”

Will shrugs. “It wasn’t the first for him, though it was for me. His friend was the one who insisted on him attending, though I don’t think he was happy that I came with the package.”

Ah, dear Franklyn. Hannibal has a sudden compulsion to thank the man for inadvertently introducing him to Will Graham. 

Picking up his utensils, Hannibal gestures for the other man to do the same. “Best to eat everything while it’s still fresh,” Hannibal says, eyes on Will’s hands as he begins to cut into the kidney. “Bon appetit.”

Will gives him a small smile as he raises a piece of the kidney into his mouth. His mouth works for a few seconds, savoring the taste before he swallows. His smile turns genuine. “It’s delicious. I’ve never had kidneys or liver before.”

Hannibal begins to cut into his own meal, pleased at the compliment. “I’m glad to be broadening your palate, then.”  _ In more ways than one.  _ “Offals can be particularly tricky to prepare, though I’m very partial to them.”

Will hums around another mouthful. “What kind of meat is it?”

“Rabbit. I’m glad the taste suits you.”

“It’s good. I have a feeling that it tastes good because you cooked it, though I don’t have a point of comparison. I’m not adventurous when it comes to meat. I prefer fish.”

“I suppose you’re not a pescatarian, then. I do have to apologize, it slipped my mind to ask you if you had any dietary restrictions.” In truth, Hannibal is rather set in his intention to feed Will something from his special cuts of meat, and to that end had intentionally neglected to ask for specifics.

Will seems amused at that. “Don’t worry, I would’ve told you if it was important. Though I suppose you’re not perfect, after all.”

“I would never claim to be perfect. Perfection might be attainable, depending on which definition of it you seek, but there’s no beauty in things that lack spontaneity or creativity.”

Will’s eyes dart to  _ Leda and the Swan, _ his mouth twisting into a smirk. “Yes, I’m sure you’re all about the aesthetics.”

“Do you have me figured out so completely, then? I wonder how you see me.”

“Sum you up in so many words?” Will laughs. “I wouldn’t dare. It’d be an insult to the host. Besides, that’s your job description. I don’t profile people for a living.” 

Hannibal chuckles. “There’s something diverting about studying the human’s mind, though I know you don’t hold the psychiatric profession in the highest regard.” 

“Being a surgeon wasn’t diverting enough for you?” 

Hannibal offers a smile. He had never told Will of his previous profession. Will may have looked him up, but it was also possible that he had deduced it. “You have quite the talent for profiling or even psychology.” 

Will grimaces. “I would say don’t insult me by even suggesting it, but then I’d be insulting you too.”

They share a smile at that and dinner continues in silence, both of them absorbed in their thoughts for the moment. Hannibal is pleased to note that Will eats everything on his plate, leaving nothing untouched. The tacit compliment lends a note of pleasure to the evening, in addition to the riveting conversation they’re sharing.

Apropos of nothing, Will continues, “It’s your hands, by the way.” 

Hannibal polishes off the last of his meal before he sends a questioning look. “My hands?”

Will smiles. “They give you away. That’s how I suspected you were a surgeon before you turned to psychiatry.”

“Your deduction skills and your empathy make a formidable combination,” Hannibal compliments, intrigued with this man before him, seemingly so sure of himself — or at least, his empathy. “It’s an admirable quality, though I imagine most people would not appreciate your sharpened blade being pointed at them. Did you use it as a shield when your previous therapists pushed you to your limits?”

Will shrugs. “Can’t blame a cornered animal for lashing out. Most of them deserved it.”

What a fascinating creature Will is. “I suspect you will use it on me often, then.”

Grinning, Will raises his glass of wine in a mock salute. “Only if you think you deserve it. Thank you for the excellent meal, Doctor Lecter. It was delicious.”

“We still have desserts, if you’re amenable.”

“You’re pulling out all the stops, huh? Do you do this with every meal and for everyone you serve?”

“Yes.” Hannibal smiles. “I’m very careful about what I put inside my body. I prepare all of my meals unless I’m dining out, in which case I’m very selective of what I eat. And I enjoy ‘wining and dining’ people, as you’ve put it. Hosting is something I greatly enjoy whenever I get the opportunity for it, especially with great company.”

“You flatter me, doctor,” Will laughs. “I doubt I’m that interesting for you to do this every week.”

“I don’t see why not.”

“You’re serious?” 

“I’m always serious.”

Will pauses, frowning. “What are you getting out of this?”

“As I’ve said, I enjoy hosting—” 

“Sorry, I should probably be more specific,” Will interrupts. “Why are you doing this? You can’t be doing it just to make me feel comfortable enough to talk with you. The first time I came to your office, I went into it expecting it to be a one-time thing. I thought the second session was offered out of some misplaced sense of responsibility to make sure I’m getting through this ordeal, but then you upped the ante and here we are. At this rate, I don’t think you’re doing this at the bureau’s request. It’s not like we’ve been talking about Tobias all that much.”

Leaning back into his seat, Will’s stormy eyes bore into Hannibal’s unflinchingly. “So tell me, Doctor Lecter. Why are you  _ really  _ doing this?”

There’s a moment of charged silence where Hannibal considers lying, wondering how Will would take it. He knows, though, that Will would pull apart the lie somehow with his keen eyes and keener empathy. 

“I’ve mentioned before that I find you interesting,” Hannibal says eventually. 

“That’s such a bullshit reason to continue all this.” Will snorts. “You could have anybody over for dinner, and they would gladly trade a body part to be part of your dinner party, I’m sure. I’m still wondering how I got here, truthfully.” 

“I find myself... curious,” Hannibal amends. “Not least because of your empathy. There’s something alluring at the thought of someone who could see you so clearly.”

Will’s eyes narrow. “So… you’re telling me you’re… lonely?”

Hannibal gives a minute shrug. “In a manner of speaking. I don’t find fulfillment from relationships or fleeting dalliances. What I’m seeking from you is a challenge, I suppose. A challenge to the monotony of life. At the risk of sounding rude, you’re something of a novelty.”

Will scoffs. “Thanks for the brutal honesty.”

“You did ask for it.”

“I did,” Will agrees, sipping the last of his wine. “I guess I should expect that from a psychiatrist. Nothing more interesting to you than a willing participant in the experiment, huh?”

“I should disabuse you of your thinking that I seek your company for any other gain than a personal one, however,” Hannibal retorts mildly. “I genuinely enjoy our conversations together, Will. I hope I haven’t offended you too much that you would seek to refuse future offers of dinner and conversation.”

Will stares at Hannibal, his expression considering. “Well, that depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not I get dessert out of this thing tonight.”

An unbidden smile blooms on Hannibal’s face. “Of course. Excuse me for a moment while I clear everything. Would you mind waiting in the study? We can bring our drinks.”

“Dessert in the study? Scandalous,” Will says, grinning. “Can I help with anything?”

Hannibal shakes his head and rises. “No need, Will. I’ll show you to the study. Feel free to have a look around.”

Will follows silently, his gaze wandering around as they make their way to the study. Hannibal lights the fire in the hearth before he excuses himself and leaves Will to his own devices. Only when the dining table is cleared does Hannibal make a move to retrieve the desserts he’s prepared for tonight — sangguinacio dolce — before he returns to the study.

Hannibal enters the room quietly, taking a moment to hover at the doorway to observe Will’s half-hidden profile. Will is seated in one of the two chairs in front of the fireplace, his expression inscrutable as he gazes into the fire with his wine cradled in the palm of one hand. The man is the very picture of quiet introspection. Hannibal savors Will’s classical features and his highlighted silhouette for a few more seconds before he makes his presence known and approaches Will.

Will smiles and places his wine on the desk in the middle of the chairs before he retrieves the dessert Hannibal offers to him. He picks up the spoon and stirs the chocolate as if testing the texture. 

“I think I might need to run a few miles tomorrow,” Will says, laughing a little before he raises a spoonful of the chocolate into his mouth. “Oh, that’s really good.”

Hannibal listens to the almost obscene sound Will is making as he eats, pleased at the appreciation. There’s no reason for Will to realize that one of the components for the dessert is pig’s blood (though Hannibal’s definition of swine might greatly differ from others), and he wonders if Will would appreciate it as much if he knew what was in it.

Hannibal dips into his dessert, relishing the light metallic tang of the blood co-mingling with the richness of the chocolate. A subtle taste, though it’s one that Hannibal has become intimately familiar with over time. 

“I hardly think one meal and a dessert would send you to the treadmill,” Hannibal teases. “You seem to be in good shape. I’m assuming whatever work you do keeps you active. You’ve mentioned you’re doing freelancing mechanic work?”

“I’m surprised you remember that,” Will replies, smiling slightly. “Yeah, I think I’ve been doing it for three years now? I wouldn’t say it’s an active sort of work, but it beats working a desk job.”

“What sort of motors do you fix exactly?”

Will shrugs, humming around the spoon he’s licking. “I’m more familiar with motorboats and car engines since that’s what I’ve had experience with.”

“A hobby you’ve turned into a skill?”

“Something like that. Mostly it’s a good skill to pick up when you and your dad move around a lot and the car tends to die on you more often than not.”

Hannibal hums. “And the motorboats?”

“Dad used to work on them at the piers before… well, before he died.”

“My apologies for your loss.”

Will is silent for a moment as he stares at the fire. He shrugs as if to shake off the thoughts. “It was a long time ago. Anyway, I went with him sometimes on the weekend. Learned a thing or two. I only recently picked up the skills again when I started freelancing.”

“Were you always doing that kind of work?”

Will turns to Hannibal with a smirk. “What, you don’t have me completely figured out yet? Draw up a whole profile on me?”

Not for the lack of trying. “I have some suspicions, though they’re mostly conjectures.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny your suspicions,” Will says, his tone gently teasing. He eats his remaining desserts in silence, looking contemplative as he stares into the flickering fire once more. 

Hannibal leaves him be and polishes off his own, silently delighting at what he’s learned of Will. The information he’s gotten out of Will so far is insignificant in the grand scheme of things. He’s more thrilled at the fact that Will is willingly sharing parts of himself and what that implies.

Will clears his throat as he places the emptied bowl on the desk between them. “Speaking of profiles…” He turns to look at Hannibal. “I saw the latest article on  _ TattleCrime  _ a few days ago. Is that one of your cases?”

“I didn’t think you’d been keeping up with the news,” Hannibal replies, though inwardly he’s pleased that Will is the one who brought up the case. “I probably shouldn’t admit it, but yes.” 

“You told me I could look at the files on your desk in our first meeting,” Will reminds him, brow arched in disbelief. 

“So I did.” Hannibal smiles. “Though I’m afraid I won’t have any more files for you.”

Will laughs. “I wasn’t asking for it. Just curious, I guess, when I saw it on the website.” Off Hannibal’s curious look, he shrugs. “I need to keep up with what  _ TattleCrime  _ has been reporting on. Lounds is still trying to get an interview out of me.”

“I had no idea she was still harassing you.” Hannibal frowns. “Is there a particular reason why she’s fixated on you?”

Shrugging, Will picks up his glass of wine and drinks it before he answers. “Guessing she just wants more gossip to drive the hit counts up on her website.”

Hannibal hums, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair to look at Will’s profile. “She does tend to hound the survivors from horrific ordeals in search of the next bestseller.”

Will snorts, shaking his head and taking another sip. “Just like what she did to that poor Hobbs girl.”

“The daughter of the Minnesota Shrike?”

“Yeah. That’s how I knew of Lounds’s existence. From her coverage of the Shrike case.”

“Yes, I recall it was all over the national news for several weeks.”

“People love to be shocked by the sensational. Cannibalism seems to be Lounds’s greatest hits right now.”

Amused in more ways than one, Hannibal suppresses the urge to smile. “I remember that case. It came only a few weeks before the String Killer’s, and emotions were still high after the conclusion of the Shrike’s.”

Will sighs and takes another listless sip of the wine before he puts the glass aside. “Lounds couldn’t even leave a dead girl alone,” he says morosely. “Probably went around chasing any relatives or neighbors who were only too willing to talk for that damn book.”

Hannibal purses his lips. “Abigail Hobbs’ death was a tragic occurrence. It was insensitive of Miss Lounds to take advantage of the public’s heightened emotions to sell her book.” If one could even call it that.

“Oh, I’m sure she’s not the only opportunistic person who was making a quick buck from that,” Will huffs. “Abigail’s death shouldn’t have been used for press fodder.”

“Indeed. What would have happened, I wonder, if she had survived her father.”

Heaving a sigh, Will shrugs. “Who knows? The world is a shitty place. Maybe she’s better off being dead. At least she wouldn’t have to deal with the likes of Freddie Lounds and her ilk.” 

“A macabre outlook, but an understandable one as it were.”

“Sorry,” Will says with a small laugh. “My mind is not exactly a pretty place to be in.”

What Hannibal wouldn’t give to climb inside that mind of his. “What did you think of the latest case?”

Will turns to look at Hannibal, his eyes blinking rapidly at the change of subject. Huffing, he looks away again. “The String Killer’s? Or at least that’s what Lounds attributed it to.”

“Do you not agree, then?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think, I’m not a profiler,” Will says, smiling a little. “Hell, I’m just a mechanic at this point, I guess.”

“Nevertheless, I’m curious,” Hannibal says softly. “I’d be happy to hear your thoughts.”

Will stares at Hannibal for several moments before leaning back into his seat, looking relaxed. “I’ve only seen the photos Lounds put up,” he says eventually. “It looks like the latest body is part of a series of related killings. The first one was a human cello. The second one seems to be a continuation of that. It looks as if the killer was trying to perfect his technique?”

Hannibal hums to indicate he’s listening.

“The third one, though…” Will muses, his eyes going distant as he stares at nothing in particular. “It’s on a completely different level than the previous kills… The killer is continuing with the theme, but he’s playing a different composition. And the way that body was suspended was clearly intentional.”

“How so?” Hannibal controls his breathing, not letting his growing excitement show. 

“He’s placing himself above everyone else, suspending his victim on the strings while he’s looking down on everybody,” Will murmurs. His eyes are still unseeing, lost in thought as he rambles. “Those strings… the strings symbolize something here… he’s telling everyone that he’s the master puppeteer, and his creations are above everyone else’s… he’s  _ taunting  _ m—” 

As if broken out of a spell, Will shakes out of it then, cutting off his train of thoughts as his focus returns. 

Hannibal still lays entranced, hanging onto Will’s words despite the sudden interruption. “Are you alright, Will?”

Blinking rapidly, Will’s face floods with color and he shakes his head, casting his gaze towards the fire once more. Avoiding him. Hannibal wishes he could reach out to force the man to look at him.

“I’m fine,” Will says after a moment, voice gruff. He laughs in an embarrassed manner, scrubbing his face with both hands. “Sorry, I think I just had a lot to drink.”

Though his mind is still burning with questions and intrigue at Will’s impressions of his tableau, he tamps his excitement down. “You can freshen up in the bathroom if you’d like. Perhaps this sort of talk is too much for dinner.”

Will doesn’t deny it, though he doesn’t look as if he agrees. “It’s okay, I think… maybe I should head home. I don’t even know what time it is,” he realizes, almost as an afterthought. Squinting at his watch, he grimaces. “Wow, it’s pretty late. Sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you for so long. I should be going.”

Hannibal tilts his head in acquiescence, though he’s almost disappointed. Will’s words had been captivating, with Hannibal its enthralled audience. 

“Of course,” Hannibal says, rising and offering his hand to Will. “I shall see you out.”

Smiling, Will takes his hand and lets himself be pulled into a standing position, though he stumbles a little and uses Hannibal’s hand as a support. Wincing, Will opens his mouth to presumably apologize, though the words come to an abrupt stop when he realizes how close they are. 

With their proximity, Hannibal doesn’t miss the sound of Will’s sharp inhale and the sight of Will’s dilated pupils, the blue in those eyes overtaken by dark colors so swiftly before Hannibal realizes in a fraction of a second that Will Graham is attracted to him. 

The thought crashes into him none too gently, and he finds his thoughts branching into several threads at once, though they are interrupted by another abrupt realization that his own heartbeat is quickening rapidly, the touch of Will’s palm on him fever-warm even through his clothes. 

_ Ah.  _ So that’s why he’d been craving Will’s company.

It’s a heady and confusing feeling and one that Hannibal is not prepared for. They regard each other silently for several seconds, eyes transfixed on each other’s faces.

Hannibal forces himself to gather his thoughts then. It seems wise to move away to clear away the confusing emotions. But this, too, is stopped when Will leans in to close the gap between them and kisses him, his eyes fluttering closed.

There’s a moment of stillness where Hannibal is too shocked to react, and Will pulls back a short while later, his face reddening in flustered embarrassment. 

“Sorry,” Will mumbles softly, avoiding Hannibal’s eyes as he pulls away. “I thought— never mind, I think I should go—” 

“Will,” Hannibal interrupts, almost impulsively. 

In a rare moment of recklessness, Hannibal moves his hand to cradle Will’s nape, savoring the way he trembles minutely beneath his touch. Will is still avoiding his eyes, though his eyes widen fractionally when Hannibal pulls him into another kiss. Hannibal pulls him closer until their bodies are flushed against one another, until Will finally loosens and begins to reciprocate, leaning into the kiss.

It’s a slow, exploratory kiss, with Will still tentatively responding before he parts his lips for more. Hannibal takes the advantage willingly given, sliding his tongue past Will’s parted lips for a taste, something to sate the craving he’s beginning to feel. The taste of dark chocolate and wine and the sounds of Will’s soft sighs are intoxicating, and Hannibal takes his time to learn how to coax more of that sound out of Will. Will reciprocates in kind, alternating between soft presses of his lips and biting kisses.

They only pull apart minutes later, and Hannibal regards Will with some satisfaction, the man looking disheveled as Hannibal feels. It’s been some time since he’s been driven to feel this way, and several things click into place as he finally sees the attraction he feels for Will for what it is. 

It takes them a few more breaths to disentangle from each other. His hand is still on Will’s nape. He reluctantly pulls away, putting some space in between them as they straighten themselves. 

“Is your head clear enough for you to drive, or do you need some time to yourself?” Hannibal asks eventually, breaking the silence. He’s not embarrassed by his impulsiveness, though he does feel somewhat at a loss at his momentary lapse in judgment. 

Will huffs out a laugh, eyes filled with mirth. “I guess I’m not the only one feeling awkward at this.”

Hannibal can’t think of anything to respond to that, strangely enough, so he responds with the truth. “I find myself… unmoored.”

“Wow,” Will says, looking even more amused. “I don’t know whether that’s an insult or a compliment.”

“Perhaps a little bit of both,” Hannibal admits. Will seems to value truthfulness, even if it’s potentially hurtful.

Will laughs again. Hannibal is beginning to be addicted to the sound. 

Perhaps he’s in bigger trouble than he thought.

“I apologize for the first kiss,” Will says, cheeks reddening slightly, “but I’m not going to apologize for that second one.”

“Nor should you,” Hannibal replies, gathering himself. “I found myself enjoying it.”

“That’s the most tepid response I’ve ever gotten for a kiss.” Will doesn’t look offended by it, however. If anything, he looks as if he finds the whole thing amusing, even if his uncomfortable stance says otherwise.

“You’re using humor to diffuse the awkwardness you feel,” Hannibal realizes. 

“Got it in one,” Will sighs, looking away. “I really should go before I die of embarrassment.”

“I’ll show you to the door,” Hannibal says. “I’ll make sure you reach it this time.”

Will cracks a grin at that, and he follows Hannibal silently as they cut through the rooms to reach the vestibule. Hannibal holds out Will’s jacket for him expectantly, and Will only raises an eyebrow at it before he steps closer to Hannibal and turns his back to Hannibal. Pleased, Hannibal helps him into it, keeping his smile in place as Will turns back to him, ready to leave.

“Thanks for dinner,” Will says, gaze not quite meeting Hannibal’s. “I, uh, I had fun. Against all odds.”

“As did I,” Hannibal murmurs, his eyes on Will’s swollen lips. 

Will seems to note his distraction if his sudden grin is anything to go by. “Should I see you in the office next week?” 

Deciding to indulge (after all, when has he ever denied himself?), Hannibal steps forward to capture Will’s lips in another slow, sensuous kiss. Will seems to be prepared for it this time around, and he kisses Hannibal back with equal fervor. 

“I’d much rather see you here again,” Hannibal replies when they eventually separate. 

“Deal.” Will grins. “I’m warning you, though: I don’t put out until after the third date, and that’s only if you manage to impress me.”

Hannibal finds himself charmed, despite his misgivings about his own emotions. “Does this count as the first date, then?”

Will pretends to think it over as he pulls away. “I’ll allow it.” 

“And were you suitably impressed?”

“More than I’d care to admit.” Will’s smile is soft and genuine. “I’m sure your next dinner performance would be another work of art.”

“I didn’t take you for a flatterer,” Hannibal comments mildly as he opens the door for Will, the cool night air sweeping inside momentarily.

“I’m not,” Will replies with another wry smile. “So make of that what you will. Goodbye, Hannibal.”

Hannibal stands at the doorway until Will disappears from view, his mind replaying the sound of his name spilling out of Will’s lips long after the man himself is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats at finally getting to first base, Hannibal! Also this whole chapter was just them having dinner and conversations lol. I hope yall are happy ;)


	5. unspooling

Hannibal replays much of what happened during his dinner with Will throughout the weekend. It’s a pleasant distraction for his mind as he goes about his routine. 

He spends much of his weekend on idle activities: he goes to the farmer’s market to stock up on fresh produce, catches up with the journals he has subscribed to, skims  _ TattleCrime  _ for any noteworthy murders, and starts a new composition on his harpsichord. In the evening, he finds himself sketching Will’s features, wishing he could capture the color of his eyes in its entirety. 

The recollection of Will’s stormy blue eyes and flushed face brings a pleasant sensation, and Hannibal indulges in it for several moments as he sits in the relative silence of his study. In addition to those diverting memories, Hannibal’s mind naturally turns to Will’s recounting of Hannibal’s latest kill. 

Somehow, Will has managed to arrive at Hannibal’s intended message for the String Killer and the Copycat Killer, even if his brilliant mind is only working based on the available details from TattleCrime. An astounding feat, even taking Will’s empathy disorder into account. He still wishes that Will had not been startled out of his reverie — there’s still the burning question of what Will had meant to say at the end of his interrupted sentence.

_ (”…his creations are above everyone else’s… he’s taunting m—”) _

Hannibal is preoccupied with such thoughts for the rest of the weekend, entertaining himself at the possibilities. Though he was initially frustrated at the lack of conclusion, there’s no denying that he’s never been so diverted by another person such as Will. 

Of course, Will had not gotten wind of the fact that it was a Ripper kill, as the FBI is trying to keep the details of the case from leaking to the public, or worse, Lounds. He is highly interested to know Will’s impressions on the Ripper’s tableaux, keen to see what that perceptive mind would make of his displays. Perhaps he could find a way to pepper in some inviting details to coax Will into giving his opinions during their upcoming dinners…

But he’s getting ahead of himself.

Much as he enjoys Will’s company, Hannibal is also aware that he’s treading into uncharted waters with regards to the things he feels for Will. He can no longer deny that he’s physically attracted to the man, in addition to the cerebral allure the man presents. It unsettled him to realize it initially, but ultimately, he thinks he can also use that attraction to his advantage, especially since the feelings seem to be mutual on Will’s part. 

And of course, it can’t hurt to get an additional perspective on the matter.

Monday afternoon finds him seated across Bedelia du Maurier as they take a sip of their drinks, courtesy of Bedelia’s fine wine selection. Hannibal contemplates the reason he’s there while the silence grows around them, thinking of the best way to approach the matter.

“You seem to be troubled today,” Bedelia says after a while, her placid eyes locked on Hannibal’s. 

Hannibal gives a small sigh. “Is it so obvious?” 

Bedelia merely hums, sipping her drink with her eyes still trained on Hannibal. “You’re rarely too preoccupied to voice your thoughts when we have our sessions.”

“I’ve met a man,” Hannibal settles on. “Well, we’ve met several months back,” he amends. “Though he’s recently become a more… fixed appearance.”

Bedelia’s brow arcs elegantly. “It’s even rarer that someone has rendered you so disconcerted.” Realization dawns on her face only moments later. “Ah. Was this the man you met at the opera? Your… patient’s friend?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Hannibal says, his lips curling into a small smile. The image of Franklyn and Will being friends is an amusing one, though he supposes it’s possible were it not for Franklyn’s jealousy of Tobias and Will’s relationship. “We’ve been having conversations for the past few weeks.”

Bedelia’s eyes are shrewd and calculative as she leans back into her seat. “What sort of conversations did you have?”

“He came to me to talk through his trauma over losing someone close to him. That was the first and last conversation that revolves around the matter. The next few times we’ve met, our conversation and our resulting relationship has evolved beyond that experience.”

“Providing comfort for a friend can be a strong bonding experience,” Bedelia comments mildly. Hannibal does not correct her assumption that Will had come to him as a friend. “After that first session, the conversation naturally moved past the point of his traumatic experiences, and made a jump into the personal.”

“Will proves to be resilient,” Hannibal agrees. “Though he seemed somewhat distraught at the death of his partner, he didn’t dwell on death unnecessarily.” 

In fact, Will seemed to have bounced back at a fairly fast pace, which Hannibal had noted with some complaisance. After all, what good is there to grieve incessantly over things you could not control, as Franklyn is wont to do? 

“And why does this evolution of your relationship unsettle you?”

Hannibal ponders on the matter for minutes. He had thought it over and over again in his moment of solitude, and he’s come to a conclusion since then. “I am… concerned at how attached I was even before I realized that I have formed an attachment.”

Bedelia tilts her head in consideration. “Do you see forming an attachment as something perilous?”

“Attachments can dissolve boundaries.” 

“Boundaries can be negotiated.”

“I’d rather not lose control of mine.”

Bedelia nurses her drink then, avoiding Hannibal’s gaze. Her expression is inscrutable as always. Only when she’s finished with her drink does she turn to Hannibal. 

“Seeing someone is not the same as being seen in return,” she says, her words clipped though her tone is kind. “You’ve spent a lot of time building walls. Having someone scale those walls can be an understandably daunting experience. It requires a lot of trust.”

_ And trust isn’t easy for you. _

The words are left unsaid, though Hannibal can sense them in the air regardless. His thoughts return to Will and the concept of relationship.

“Do you see yourself going further in this relationship?” Bedelia inquires after another long silence. “Or will you hold back in fear of those walls crumbling? Your walls will remain pristine if you decide to stay in place, but will you be happy within while you reign alone in your seclusion?”

He doesn’t have an immediate answer, though he does eventually heave a sigh. “I suppose we shall see.”

Jack calls Hannibal and Alana to Quantico on Wednesday to brief them on the Chesapeake Ripper files. Hannibal had been waiting for the call throughout the weekend, thrilled at the opportunity to glean into what the FBI has on his case. It’s a rare occasion for him to “profile” his own kills, and it’s one that he intends to savor. 

Jack and Alana are standing in front of a board when Hannibal enters the office, both of them talking in low, serious tones. 

“Good afternoon,” Hannibal says when they turn towards him. 

“Doctor Lecter,” Jack replies, gesturing for Hannibal to join them. “Just in time. I was briefing Doctor Bloom on the Ripper’s cases.”

Hannibal stands beside Alana, his eyes skimming over the pictures and brief victim profiles pinned on the board. Jack has arranged them by the order of when the victims were discovered. One of the pictures at the bottom corner of the board is not a photo of Hannibal’s display — it’s a picture of Miriam Lass, instead. A good confirmation as any that the BAU counts Miriam Lass as one of the Ripper’s kills. 

Of course, Hannibal has killed many more people who have remained undiscovered to this day, but he appreciates the profiles which have been assembled on the board.

“As I was telling Doctor Bloom,” Jack begins, turning his attention back to the board in front of them, “so far there have been nine known victims of the Chesapeake Ripper, excluding the recent one we’ve discovered at the Baltimore Opera House. The bodies dropped sporadically within a sixteen month period before they stopped two years ago. Though we’ve drawn up the timeline of when the bodies dropped, we have yet to determine any patterns on why the Ripper has killed when he does, and why he chose the victims for his displays.”

Hannibal hums in acknowledgment and presents the very picture of somber understanding at Jack’s explanation. In contrast to his outward appearance, inwardly he is happily reminiscing the tableaux he’s displayed over the years. He’s particularly proud of the tongue in the Bible; poetic justice has never been expressed so beautifully, at least in his estimate.

Sighing, Jack taps Miriam’s photo in aggravation, his frown growing darker. “Miriam Lass was one of our trainees. She’s considered as the last Ripper victim, although her body was never found.”

“I’ve only heard from the rumors of the aftermath,” Alana says in a hushed voice, “but she’s the one investigating the Ripper victims’ medical records before she went missing, wasn’t she?”

Jack’s nod is reluctant. “Yes. She was likely on the right trail, and the Ripper found out.”

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Alana says. 

Sighing, Jack only shakes his head, looking determined. “If the Ripper has returned, this is our window of opportunity to catch him before the trail goes cold again.”

“You’ve referred to the Ripper as ‘he’,” Hannibal says, breaking his silence. “Do you have a profile of him, then?”

“Yes,” Jack replies, turning to Hannibal. “We’ve drafted a profile. What we have on file so far is this: the Ripper is a medical doctor. He knows the best ways to cut a human open before taking their organs which suggests surgical skills and anatomical knowledge. He’s most likely male, in his 40s or 50s, possibly white. Looking at the pool of victims we’ve had so far, there’s no rhyme or reason to them. He chose them from a wide selection, so no telling what kind of social circles he’s traveling in. He’s fond of whimsical displays, though they veer into the symbolic kinds. So he likely sees himself as a cultured person.”

To hear his persona being reduced to such crude words pains him, but he keeps his expression calm as he listens to Jack. Clearly, the FBI doesn’t recognize the beauty of what he does. No matter. He’s not here to make them see sense, after all.

“Not much of a concrete profile; it’ll be hard to narrow down the pool of potential kills just from that,” Alana notes. “Most of the kills are found within the same radius?”

“The first three victims were found in Annapolis, Essex, and Baltimore. That was spread out over nine days,” Jack explains, pointing at the locations circled on the pinned up map on the board. “Then eighteen months later, three bodies were discovered within the Baltimore area, also spread out within a week or so. The next two bodies dropped eleven months later, also around Baltimore, before the Ripper stopped with his displays. That was around the time when Miriam Lass also went missing while she was investigating the case, so she was assumed to be the last victim to complete the third series of the Ripper kills. Looks like the Ripper operates within Maryland, though he seems to favor Baltimore.”

“Are the victims from Baltimore?” Hannibal prompts.

“A few of them,” Jack replies. “But that doesn’t seem to be the criteria he’s looking at when he selects his victims.”

“He hasn’t ventured out of Maryland just yet,” Alana muses. “An opportunistic killer, perhaps?”

“The meticulous displays seem to suggest otherwise,” Hannibal says. 

Alana hums, peering at the victim’s profiles. “You may be right. Miriam might have been the exception since it looks like she was getting close to the Ripper’s trails.” She frowns. “There’s no telling why he’s chosen these people for his tableaux, other than to make ironic displays of them. They’re all very… theatrical.”

Hannibal turns to Jack. “Have you ascertained the reason why the bodies are dropped within days of each other before the Ripper goes silent in between his kills?” 

“No,” Jack says, voice grim. “At least no concrete theories. Maybe he just needs to feed into his blood lust every few years, maybe something triggers his need for attention and validation.” He sighs. “There’s been no discernible pattern to it. This is why we need to use the time we have now to confirm whether the latest killer we have on our hand is the Ripper or not.”

“Of course,” Hannibal murmurs. “Shall we have a look at that file again?”

While the three of them go back to sit around Jack’s desk to discuss the particulars of Mr. Reynolds’s death, Hannibal is only paying half of his attention to the discussion at hand while he entertains himself with the thought that the FBI is truly nowhere closer to catching the Ripper, especially if he has any say about it.

Satisfied that he wouldn’t need to do any damage control just yet, Hannibal attends to the rest of the meeting with his full attention, feeling like the cat that ate the canary while he talks to his unassuming audience about his latest kill.

With the meeting concluded, Hannibal and Alana step outside of the Quantico building as they walk side by side to the parking lot, both of them engrossed in their conversation.

“I don’t like the odds. I think we may have to admit that it’s the Ripper based on what we’ve discovered,” Alana says, her face set in a gentle frown. “I was hoping that this wasn’t him. I’ve seen how affected Jack was when he was at the height of the Ripper chase.”

Hannibal hums. “It did cost him an FBI trainee agent, after all.”

“Yes,” Alana sighs. “I’ve only heard hearsays of what happened after, but it was a big loss to Jack. I still don’t know why a trainee was looking into the case in the first place — as I understand it, she wasn’t cleared for it.”

“Perhaps Uncle Jack was trying to fly under the radar, using a trainee to bypass the bureaucracy,” Hannibal murmurs in a low voice. Unfortunately, he bit off more than he could chew.

Alana frowns. “You may be right. In any case, I’m worried about him. I don’t want him to become obsessed with the Ripper again—”

There’s a click of a camera shutter behind them that stops them in their tracks, and they turn to the offending sound, looking for its source. 

Hannibal sees a flash of red hair and austere blue eyes before his sight sets on the DSLR camera in the woman’s hand. His mouth curls into a smile of understanding. “Miss Lounds, I presume?” 

The woman blinks owlishly for a few seconds before she recovers, giving Hannibal a smile of her own. “It seems my reputation precedes me,” she says sweetly, lowering her hands to her sides to stash away the camera inside a crossbody bag.

“I was wondering when we’d cross paths,” Hannibal admits. 

“I’m flattered,” Freddie Lounds says, looking anything but. She seems suspicious, though she throws that aside in favor of getting what she wants most: an inside scoop. “So I heard you mention that the Ripper is back, Doctor Bloom? A bold statement, considering the Ripper has been silent for several years now.”

Alana sighs, rolling her eyes. “You shouldn’t be here, Freddie. We’re not discussing this case with you.”

“It’s a free country,” Freddie retorts, her smile growing wider. “And my readers deserve to know if the Ripper is back. I’m sure they’d be interested to know that the FBI and its consultants are doing their best to hide that fact. I wonder why?”

“I suggest that you refrain from printing any speculations, Miss Lounds,” Hannibal says, “though I doubt that it would stop you. You seem determined to take people’s words out of context.”

Freddie smirks. 

Before Freddie can continue, Hannibal turns to Alana with a smile. “Alana, why don’t you go ahead? I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be late for your next appointment.”

Alana frowns, her gaze flitting between Hannibal and Freddie before she sighs. “Right. I’ll see you later, Hannibal.” She stares resentfully at Freddie before she hastily walks away, seemingly eager to keep away from the situation at hand.

With Alana out of the way, Hannibal returns his attention to Freddie. “Now, Miss Lounds, would you share with me what exactly you had in mind when you took that photo of us?”

Freddie’s smile is still fixed on her face, though her eyes are steely as she holds her ground. “Like I said, the public deserves to know if the Chesapeake Ripper has resurfaced, especially since we have so many killers running around these days. Would you care to share more details about that, Doctor Lecter? As one of the two people consulting for the BAU to profile these psychopaths, I’m sure you have a lot to say on the matter. I’ll be sure to give you proper credit, of course, or name you as an anonymous source if that’s not your thing.”

Hannibal gives her a polite smile, though he takes offense at her use of “psychopath” to describe the Ripper. “You’ve certainly done your homework. However, you should understand that my employment with the BAU is the exact reason I can’t disclose any information related to the case. I suggest you delete the photo from your camera, as you won’t get anything from me or Doctor Bloom.”

With that, Hannibal turns and finds his way to his car again, keeping his pace even as he walks away.

Freddie’s smile turns into a moue of displeasure at Hannibal’s words, though she follows Hannibal relentlessly, her heels clicking loudly on the tarmac. 

“Well then, maybe you can tell me more about Will Graham instead.”

That stops Hannibal in his tracks, and he turns to see Freddie’s triumphant smile. “Why do you think I can tell you anything about Will Graham?”

Freddie smirks. “Don’t try to deny it, Doctor Lecter. I know he came to see you a few times, I’ve seen his car at your office for two weeks in a row. Seems to have missed the appointment last week, though.”

Willing himself to keep still, Hannibal keeps his face emotionless, though he lets his annoyance seep through his tone. “Well, it seems you’ve been very naughty. Does Will know you’re stalking him?”

“Stalking is such an ugly word,” Freddie replies. “I’d prefer to term it as ‘keeping a close eye’ on him. In any case, I’m not breaking any laws, am I?”

“Not yet, not until you’ve crossed some boundaries. But what you’re doing is dubious at best and harmful at worst. Hounding and harassing Will would not result in a sudden change of mind on his part, and doing so to me would gain you nothing.”

“Ah, so he’s confided in you, then,” Freddie muses, looking amused. “Look, if he’d just agree to one interview, he could get rid of me pretty easily.”

“You’re under the incorrect assumption that I would be the mediator who’d argue in your favor. I assure you that you’re barking up the wrong tree. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really do have to be on my way.”

“Don’t you want to know what he’s done?” Freddie asks before Hannibal could turn away, her eyes flashing. 

Curious despite himself, Hannibal tilts his head. “As far as I’m aware, he’s a victim of trauma. I’m curious as to what exactly you’re insinuating.”

“Sure, that’s what he tells you inside of his therapy sessions,” Freddie drawls, looking pleased that she’s caught Hannibal’s attention. “Poor Will Graham, traumatized over what happened to his boyfriend. He probably tells you how sad he is over Tobias Budge’s death, but the truth of it is this: this is not the first person he’s been involved in who has somehow turned up dead.”

Though his interest is piqued, he’s careful not to express any overt emotion. “You should be careful not to step into libelous territory.”

“Oh, of course, there’s no proof that their deaths are directly linked to Will Graham,” Freddie demurs, “but you would think it weird too if you knew the particulars of their tragic demise.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Hannibal says, his tone dubious. “I’m not quite sure why you’re painting Will Graham as a common denominator in two separate scenarios. Unless you have proof that he’s the direct cause of their death?”

“Their deaths could be coincidental, but the circumstances are suspicious if you care to look into it,” Freddie says, her smile turning malicious. “Let me leave you with one interesting tidbit, Doctor Lecter: look up Abel Gideon, and please call me if you ever feel like talking about Will Graham.”

Hannibal sighs and shakes his head. “I’m afraid I have to go, but my word of advice to you: you’d do well to leave Will alone. I would also appreciate it if you could also avoid interfering with FBI investigations, though I know that would be asking for too much.”

Freddie merely stares at him as Hannibal resumes his walk to his car (thankfully nearby), though he can hear her shouting at his retreating back. 

“Hope to hear from you soon, Doctor Lecter. I’ll be sure to keep an eye out on the Ripper!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter might take a while as my beta is busy at the moment, but rest assured that it's coming :)


	6. entanglement

His conversation with Freddie Lounds is the only thing on his mind as Hannibal drives home. 

Once he’s parked his car and stowed his things away, he foregoes his usual dinner preparations and takes his tablet to the study instead, his thoughts focused on one name: Abel Gideon.

A search yields several results, with _TattleCrime_ unsurprisingly leading the hits in terms of the number of articles available. The name sounds vaguely familiar to him, and it only takes reading the first _TattleCrime_ article he clicked on to understand why. 

Abel Gideon had been arrested and charged with the murder of his wife and her family members almost six years ago. Being one of the most gruesome murders in recent history, his particular case was reported and rehashed by a number of the major television networks and journalists. 

There was no art to Gideon’s kills. Hannibal only gleaned a terrible anger in the bloodied dinner scene and the act of a confused and possibly deranged man before he lost interest in the case.

Of course, the public could never resist such a story as Gideon’s, and there was plenty of coverage on the aftermath of that murder. Gideon had gone to trial and was subjected to a lot of studies by several psychiatrists, with most of them diagnosing him as either a sociopath or a psychopath, which supposedly helped in his favor to play up his defense in court. 

Much good that did to Gideon. Though he was saved from the death penalty, he was also subjected to a life sentence at the Baltimore State’s Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Ending up in Dr. Frederick Chilton’s opportunistic hands is not something to take lightly, as the man’s reputation as the BSHCI director precedes him. No doubt Chilton had rubbed his hands with glee when news of Gideon’s sentence reached him; the man always did love a media circus.

The most exciting circumstance for the case was not the murder or the court proceedings and eventual sentencing, however. 

After the verdict, Gideon had escaped by dislocating his thumbs and attacking the officers guarding him while he was transported to the BSHCI. The man managed to lay low for several days, which was impressive considering the nationwide manhunt that occurred following news of his escape.

Either way, Chilton was in for some disappointment since Abel Gideon was found dead on the third day of his disappearance. His body was discovered, ironically, at Johns Hopkins Hospital, where he used to work. Though there were many speculations on the reason Gideon was there, the question on the public’s mind was mostly left unanswered, as the only man who could answer was dead. 

Post-mortem of the body revealed that his death was due to loss of blood from several stab wounds inflicted on him, and the bruises and other wounds suggested that Gideon’s assailant most likely killed him in self-defense. The FBI had not released any details other than a statement that there was no evidence to convict anyone on Gideon’s murder. _(TattleCrime,_ predictably, had printed out some scathing remarks alongside the press statement on its website.) 

The case was closed after another month of media frenzy. With no further evidence and no other exciting development in his case, Gideon disappeared from the public’s mind once more.

A disappointing end; one that’s fitting for such a lackluster murderer, in Hannibal’s mind.

Though there is plenty of information on Abel Gideon’s case related to the murder of his wife, there’s not much else that hints at other grisly murders that Gideon had perpetrated or anything that could relate Gideon to Will Graham at all. It takes almost an hour of Hannibal combing through the history of _TattleCrime_ articles from several years back to finally find something that could lead him to what Freddie Lounds was hinting at.

The article was written by Freddie Lounds, detailing what could be Abel Gideon’s first record of offense — something that only Freddie had managed to uncover, no doubt due to her unconventional ways of gaining information from her unsuspecting victims. The article is short, and though there are not many details to Freddie’s speculation, there are some interesting crumb trails which Hannibal is determined to follow through.

> **Exclusive Reveal: A Look Into Abel Gideon’s Dark Past!**
> 
> _By Freddie Lounds_
> 
> Readers, if you’ve ever wondered who Abel Gideon was before he became one of the most infamous murderers in recent history, you’d be pleased to know that this writer has managed to unearth some inside scoop for you!
> 
> My investigation to learn the truth about the former transplant surgeon has unearthed some never-before-seen facts about Gideon’s previous criminal records _(see: photo on the right)_ . The records reveal that Gideon has been charged with multiple accounts of stalking and one arrest based on multiple reports of assault, allegedly related to domestic violence _(see: photos below)._
> 
> There were also reports of complaints from the former doctor’s colleagues, and the consensus seems to point us to the fact that Gideon was a hot-tempered man who was prone to assaulting members of the staff when under pressure. 
> 
> More shockingly, most of Gideon’s colleagues who have filed these complaints were stonewalled by bureaucracy issues — that is to say, their complaints were summarily ignored because Gideon was a rock star in the medical world. Unsurprisingly, most of these complaints were made by the women staffers of the hospital.
> 
> So what does this tell us, readers? 
> 
> Clearly, the higher-ups in every organization should seek the truth behind the complaints and the offenders’ criminal records more closely, because Abel Gideon’s case shows us what would happen if these are left unchecked. More importantly, authorities and law enforcement agencies should pay attention to the women who were summarily ignored and forgotten once the dust has settled. 
> 
> For one Abel Gideon (who was only captured because of his hubris and thirst for recognition), there are many other unmasked killers who are roaming free on the streets, left unchecked by the system which was supposed to protect us. 
> 
> Unfortunately, Abel Gideon’s escalation proved to be fatal for his wife and her family.
> 
> Stay tuned for more updates on Abel Gideon’s case as he goes to trial next week!

The words themselves are inconsequential, at least to Hannibal, and he disregards them once he finishes reading. What is more interesting to him at the moment are the pictures attached to the article. While the first photo only shows Gideon’s criminal records, the second and third photos are far more illuminating in that they show the detailed records of the restraining orders issued to Gideon as well as the record for Gideon’s arrest. 

Hannibal’s eye latches immediately onto the second photo, his intrigue peaking at the sight of Will’s name as one of the complainants in the restraining order record Freddie has included.

Gideon did not receive any convictions for the instances of stalking, judging by the lack of arrest records for them. Hannibal is disappointed to see that Will’s filed complaint is more than seven-years-old; likely the record won’t be available on the database as it would’ve been purged by now.

Sitting back in his chair, Hannibal’s eyes stare at the cold, empty fireplace. The chill of the room doesn’t even register until he realizes that he has just spent several hours looking into Abel Gideon, and the watch on his wrist indicates that it’s already past his usual dinnertime. 

An unusual behavior for him, though understandably so, considering what he’s discovered tonight.

It seems there’s more to Will’s story that Hannibal has yet to uncover. 

There is some merit in giving credit where it’s due. Freddie Lounds has just given him a wonderful gift, after all. Perhaps he should reciprocate in kind when the coast is clear.

A knock on his door on Friday night sends Hannibal into a flurry of activity; the table has been set in advance of Will’s arrival, and Hannibal greets the man and puts his coat away for him before he ushers Will into the dining room as they exchange small pleasantries. 

He wastes no time in announcing their meal for the night, eager to resume his conversation with Will on things that weigh heavily on his mind ever since his discovery on Wednesday.

“I’m impressed,” Will comments as he takes a bite of his sirloin steak. “I thought you couldn’t top the meal from last week, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve managed to surpass my expectations. I’ve never really enjoyed meat before this.”

Hannibal smiles and basks in the compliment. He takes a few bites out of his steak, several minutes passing in companionable silence as he imagines what Will’s reaction would be if he truly knew what — or who — he is eating. The compliments wouldn’t be quite as effusive, he reckons. 

“I obtain my meat from an ethical butcher.” Hannibal couldn’t quite stop the smile. “I find that they taste better when I know the source. Of course, the right sort of preparation and a skillful chef is also needed to ensure that the best cut of meat is cooked properly to bring out its superior taste.”

Will grins, shaking his head in laughter. “I didn’t think you’d be the boastful sort.”

“It would be a lie to deny my skills.”

“It’s another thing to tout your own horn, though.”

“How else could I convince you that I’d be a viable partner?” Hannibal teases with a smile. “The birds of paradise can show off its plumage to attract a potential mate in its courtship dance — as humans, we’re limited in our ways. Allow me this, at least.”

Another sparkle of laughter at that. “Yeah, you’re pulling out all the stops tonight. But please, don’t ever do a mating dance in front of me.”

“I would never be as crude as that, I think.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Will says with a nonchalant shrug as he resumes eating, a small smile fixed on his face.

Hannibal merely hums in answer and focuses on his plate.

“So why did you change from surgeon to psychiatry, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

“I’m pleased to find you curious enough to ask me such questions,” Hannibal replies, smiling. 

Will’s blush is a wonderful sight; the flush traveling from his neck to his face is always fascinating to watch. 

“It’s only natural to be curious about someone you’re interested in, isn’t it?” Will says, shrugging.

“Of course,” Hannibal allows. “It was discourteous of me to point that out. To answer your question, I finally switched to psychiatry when it felt like I had one too many failures on my hand. Though we’re not expected to save every life that crossed our paths, it nevertheless felt like something I should step away from once the thought began to creep into my mind.”

“Was there a catalyst? A particular patient you couldn’t quite save?”

“No. I rarely regret the actions that I’ve taken, regardless of their outcomes. But after some point, I felt as if my skills were better used to sharpen other people’s minds and perceptions.”

Will smiles. “I’m sure you had a lot of fun trying to mold people’s thoughts. It’s addictive, isn’t it? Knowing how you can shape a person’s life through mere suggestions.”

Hannibal’s eyes flicker to Will’s, and they share a smile. “It doesn’t sound as if you’re shedding me in a positive light.”

Will laughs. “Sorry. But you have to admit that you like pulling people’s chains just to see their reactions. Am I wrong?”

“No,” Hannibal admits. “My psychiatrist tells me the same thing, though her phrasing is more delicate than yours.”

“You have a psychiatrist?” Will blinks, looking surprised. “Huh. Didn’t know a psychiatrist also needs one of their own.”

“I thought it was wise to know what it’s like to be at the other end of the chair, so to speak. She’s been immensely helpful.”

“Huh,” Will says again, looking nonplussed. “Now I’m just wondering what you talk about with your psychiatrist.”

“Do you suspect me of harboring any trauma or sufferings?” 

“Probably not. You look like you eat trauma for breakfast.”

“I’ve never had such accusations flung at me.”

Will laughs. “Yeah, I got more where that comes from.”

Hannibal hums. “I find it refreshing to have different perspectives from another psychiatrist.”

“I’m assuming you’re not talking about your other patients with her.”

“No, that would be a breach of doctor-patient confidentiality.”

Will looks skeptical, though he doesn’t comment further.

“Since you’re technically not my patient, I have been talking about you.”

Will snorts. “I figured that would be the case. Though I’m having some difficulties imagining why you’d need different perspectives on me.”

There it is, the opening that Hannibal has been waiting for. He could use it to segue into his curiosity about Abel Gideon and Will’s connection. But to do so would mean revealing important information that could backfire on him, especially since Will loathes the source of that particular information. And bringing Gideon up would inevitably drive Will away. Hannibal could see it now, how Will would shut down completely and refuse to open himself up to Hannibal again were he to broach the topic.

Hannibal takes his time to respond, finishing what remains of his meal before he meets Will’s gaze. Will looks unperturbed by the silence, and he only raises his eyebrow expectantly when Hannibal turns to him.

Perhaps he should avoid bringing Gideon up for now. There are other means to find what he seeks. 

“Doctor du Maurier has been my psychiatrist for several years, and she’s given me many valuable insights,” Hannibal settles on. “The conversations we have are illuminating at times. In our last session, I brought up my conflicting feelings with regards to you. I’m sure you’ve noticed that I rarely form attachments to anyone. My feelings towards you are somewhat concerning.”

“She helps you to figure out the emotions you can’t quite parse,” Will translates, looking amused. He nurses his drink before he licks his lips thoughtfully. “Well. For what it’s worth, I’m kind of in the same boat when it comes to this… thing we have going between us.”

“I admit I’m relieved to hear that. You seemed quite sure of yourself.”

Will gives him a pained smile. “I often get things wrong, believe it or not. When it comes to emotions, I prefer to keep my mirror neurons out of it.”

“You shut yourself off from deciphering people’s emotions when it comes to their intention towards you?”

“I don’t do it consciously,” Will replies, shrugging. “I guess you can call it a defense mechanism. Been burned too many times before this. It’s never a fun time when you can’t separate your feelings from others’.”

“Your empathy makes for some entangled emotions.”

“I guess? It’s not as easy as that. My ‘empathy’ doesn’t mean I can magic someone’s emotions out of them. It’s just… people’s emotions just pour out of them — consciously and unconsciously — and I just happen to be one of those reactive sponges that soak up every bleeding emotion. It’s taken me a while to figure that out and think of ways to stop it.”

“What has helped you since then?”

Will’s eyes flash, and he gives Hannibal a lopsided smile. “You’re psychoanalyzing me again, Doctor Lecter.”

“My apologies,” Hannibal chuckles. “I suppose I need to learn a thing or two on how to curtail this habit of mine, as you have done yours.”

“Like I said, it’s not as easy as flipping a switch in your brain,” Will replies dryly. 

“Nevertheless, you seem to have mastered it. Are you ready for dessert?”

“Sure, why not,” Will drawls. “Are we going to the study?”

“The living room, I think.”

“Okay. Let me help you this time.”

Hannibal smiles at the easy request, and he nods in acquiescence. They gather the dishes and Hannibal guides Will through his routine before he takes out tonight’s desserts. Handing Will his portion, Hannibal leads him to the living room where he has placed two of his chairs near the harpsichord in anticipation of tonight’s entertainment.

Will raises his eyebrow as he settles into one of the chairs and balances the dessert plate on his lap. “So this is the harpsichord I’ve heard so much about.”

“I recall only mentioning it once or twice in your presence,” Hannibal replies, placing his dessert on the table beside Will before he makes his way to the harpsichord. “Have you ever played one?”

Will shakes his head. “Never even heard of a harpsichord until I met Tobias.”

Hannibal reminds himself that Tobias Budge is dead and there is no reason to feel jealous of a dead man. “Did he play anything for you?”

“Only the cello,” Will replies. 

“Ah, yes, I recall he was serenading you while I entered his shop.”

“That was months ago.” Will’s resulting smile is cheeky, and Hannibal wishes to kiss it away. 

“I have a very good memory.”

Will hums, smiling. “Will you be serenading me today?”

Hannibal isn’t completely unaffected at the way Will lowered his voice and fluttered his lashes at those words. Smiling at the blatant manipulation, he takes a seat on the harpsichord bench and begins to play without prompting, the notes coming to him easily as he recalls his latest composition. The world around him falls away, his eyes fluttering closed as the melody fills him while his emotions are transferred onto the keys beneath his fingers.

While Hannibal mainly plays for himself, this particular composition was written with Will in mind. There are jarring notes which are discordant with the rest of the melody, the notes describing his own erratic and incongruent feelings when it comes to the man sitting before him. It’s satisfying to play this for Will, to let him know how Hannibal feels through a medium that doesn’t leave him completely vulnerable. It’s another veil for Will to pass through, and it’s the safest way Hannibal could think of to bare himself emotionally to the other man.

When the last note falls into silence, Hannibal finds himself feeling discombobulated all over again, though there’s also a sense of catharsis once he’s transferred and exorcised his feelings into the dying notes. He only opens his eyes once he has gathered himself.

The subject of his composition is still seated in the chair, looking transfixed. Will smiles when their eyes meet, and Hannibal notes that his dessert remains untouched. Somehow, he can’t bring himself to be affronted at that, if only because he’s the reason for it.

“That was… an interesting performance,” Will finally says. “Are you always this passionate about everything you do?”

Hannibal tilts his head in response to the insinuation laced in the question. “Only when the subject consumes me so whole-heartedly.”

“Can I assume what the subject of that particular piece is, then?”

“Assume away. I think you’d find it to be correct in this case,” Hannibal replies, rising smoothly out of the bench. He closes the distance between them and offers his hand to Will.

Looking amused, Will places his dessert plate on the small desk next to Hannibal’s. With that done, Will extends a hand and grasps Hannibal’s in his, letting himself be pulled. They’re standing so close together that it only takes Hannibal leaning into the space between them to bring their lips together, their hands still clasped together. 

Will opens his mouth immediately, accepting Hannibal’s devouring kisses as he leans closer. This time, Hannibal is ready for the feelings that wash over him at the deepening kiss. Never before has he been captivated by another person, at least not to this extent, and though there is some trepidation lingering still at the thought of his increasing attachment, he finds himself wanting to meet it directly this time.

Perhaps it was Bedelia’s words, encouraging him to foster these emotions, or perhaps it was his discovery at how much more of Will he has yet to unwrap. Either way, Hannibal finds himself giving in to his desires just then. His free hand settles on Will’s nape, his thumb brushing against Will’s ear and curls as he caresses them in languid motions. He feels the small tremors traveling through Will’s body at the caress, and he does it again, just to hear the soft moan Will lets out at the touch.

The kiss lasts for minutes, and Hannibal savors the way their bodies are pulled flushed against one another. Will’s arms had gone around him eagerly while they kissed. When one of Hannibal’s hands lands on Will’s waist and naturally gravitates to Will’s backside, there’s a soft moan of surprise before Will pulls away.

Will’s eyes are dark with desire as he stares at Hannibal, as though searching for something in them.

“Too fast?” Hannibal breathes out, though he doesn’t remove his hand.

Will lets out a burst of soft laughter. “I’m hardly a blushing virgin,” he says, grinning mischievously. “But I did say I wouldn’t put out until the third date.”

Hannibal cocks his head at that. “Shall I take you for a drive to the nearest dessert parlor and call it our third date? Would you let me touch you then?”

Another soft laughter erupts out of Will, his blue eyes sparkling in amusement. “With pick-up lines like that, I wonder why you’re still single.”

“It’s entirely by choice, I assure you.”

“Hmmm, yes, I can believe that. Commitment issues?”

Hannibal blinks. “Attachment issues would suit better.”

Will groans. “Sorry, I just killed the mood, didn’t I?”

Hannibal wonders if that was the purpose. “I apologize if I was too forward.”

Will’s face flushes with embarrassment and he avoids Hannibal’s eyes. “No, it’s… fuck. I do want you.” Looking pensive for a moment, Will sighs and shakes his head, looking like he’s come to a decision. “Are you free tomorrow night?”

Hannibal is speechless for a moment, though Will’s laughter pulls him out of his stupefied state. As it so happens, he does have plans for the weekend, but none of them are of any import should Will present an alternative to them. 

He shakes his head. “Nothing that I can’t postpone.”

Will’s smile widens at that. “Great. How do you feel about coming over to my place tomorrow?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This video on the [Birds of Paradise mating dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nWfyw51DQfU&ab_channel=BBCEarth) puts a smile on my face every time I watch it.


	7. shared intimacy

The next day passes by too slowly for Hannibal’s taste. Even though he had met Will less than twelve hours ago, he's itching to see the man again. He’s surprised at the intensity of his feelings at the thought of meeting Will in his home. With how private Will seems to be, Hannibal hadn’t expected to be invited to his home so soon. 

Hannibal makes his way to Will’s house half an hour earlier than he intended, trying to subdue his excitement at the thought of seeing Will’s private space. Even with the traffic, he makes it to Wolf Trap with time to spare before their scheduled dinner. The dirt road leading up to it is empty as he makes his way to the plot of land that makes up Will's house before his car comes to a stop at the driveway. He’s not surprised to see that the residence is as isolated as it can be from any other neighbors.

Getting out of his car, Hannibal’s eyes roam over the expanse of the area. The winter darkness is already setting in, and Will’s house is silhouetted against the dusk-colored sky. The lights within the house illuminate the windows, giving the house a warm, inviting feel. With how far the residence is from the main road, the silence feels absolute even with the sounds of nature. The house looks worn by the weather; a fitting facade that blends in well with the rugged landscape that surrounds it.

Hannibal steps onto the porch silently, a bottle of whiskey in his hand as he knocks with the other. There’s a shuffling sound and a soft bark on the other side before Will opens the door, his curls in a slight disarray and his face flushed in a beautiful hue. 

There’s another soft bark and Hannibal’s gaze is drawn towards a small dog currently yapping away at Will’s legs. The dog looks at Hannibal with curiosity as it approaches him.

Will clicks his tongue. “No, Buster. Sit.”

To Hannibal’s surprise and amusement, the dog listens, though his whine is displeased even as he obeys. “Hello, Buster.” He turns towards Will with a smile. “Hello, Will.”

“Hi,” Will says breathlessly, his eyes roaming across Hannibal’s body. “I didn’t think you’d dress up for this.”

Hannibal raises an eyebrow.

“Clearly that was my mistake,” Will laughs. “Do you ever just… dress down?”

Hannibal sniffs. “I suppose that depends on your definition of dressing down.”

Will himself is wearing slacks with a soft gray sweater, clearly dressed with comfort in mind, though he still looks beautiful regardless of what he wears. Not a hard feat when you’re blessed with such beautiful features and a lovely silhouette. Hannibal appreciates both as his eyes linger on Will.

Will’s face flushes even deeper, and he smiles shyly as he leans in for a soft, chaste kiss. 

“Welcome,” he says when he pulls away, standing aside and telling Buster to do the same to let Hannibal inside. “Sorry about Buster. He wasn’t supposed to be here today, but my friend got held up with other things so he’ll probably come back for him tomorrow.”

“Oh? I assumed he was yours,” Hannibal replies as he moves inside, his gaze roaming curiously across the room. 

“No,” Will replies distractedly as he leads Hannibal and Buster to the living room. 

Will’s house is a cozy space, with the living room situated on one side and what looks like a study on the other side. The fireplace at the living room space is lit, and there’s a piano sitting at the corner next to it; a polished and well-loved instrument, judging by its condition. 

With a few soft commands, Will persuades Buster to sit in a dog bed by the fireside before Will turns to Hannibal again. “I’ve been toying with the idea of owning dogs for a while, but I usually just babysit them for a day or two whenever my friend needs some help with them. Buster’s the newest addition to the shelter, and I’ve been helping with his training.”

Hannibal hums, looking at the yawning dog as Buster stares back at him, still curious at his presence. “He seems to be well behaved already.”

“You should’ve seen him a few weeks earlier,” Will says wryly. His eyes fall on the bottle in Hannibal’s hands. “Uh, you brought something?”

“Yes,” Hannibal replies, extending the bottle of whiskey to Will. “A little something to thank you for hosting dinner this time around.”

“Thank you.” Will lets out a low whistle when he sees the label. “A good selection. You probably shouldn’t have… you’ve been hosting the last two dinners, and I don’t think mine can compare to that.”

“I assure you I appreciate the effort. To do otherwise would be rude.”

The corner of Will’s mouth curls at that. “Well, come on then, dinner’s ready.”

Hannibal follows Will to the dining room and sits at the table while Will busies himself with the preparations. The furniture in Will’s house speaks of practicalities instead of aesthetics, much like the man himself. There’s a charming sort of disorganization in terms of the mix-and-match furniture and decoration Will seems to favor. 

Will reemerges with a ceramic dish tray which he sets down in the middle of the dining table. The smell emanating from the meal wafts through the cozy space, and Hannibal is pleasantly surprised at the presentation where he had expected none. A simple, modest presentation compared to Hannibal’s usual fare, but one that suits Will.

Will cuts and divides the fish into portions for the two of them before placing them on the plates and taking a seat across Hannibal’s. 

“Well, dig in,” he says with a small smile. He waits for Hannibal to start eating before he follows suit.

Hannibal takes a mouthful of the fish, savoring the taste as he deconstructs the ingredients used in the preparation, a habit of sorts. The simple seasoning and the citrus flavor from the sauce blend perfectly, and he appreciates the meal by taking a few more bites. 

“So, do I pass muster?” Will asks with a quirk of his lips. 

“With flying colors,” Hannibal answers. “The fish is delicious.”

“I’m glad. Caught it a few days ago, and I’ve been saving it since it’s pretty huge.”

“It’s not something you’d eat alone,” Hannibal agrees, looking at the size of the fish. “Do you fish often?”

“I mostly do it for fun. It’s pretty calming. Some days you’re lucky and you get to feed yourself.”

Hannibal hums. “I imagine it would be an expensive hobby.”

“I make do where I can,” Will huffs. “I make my own lures from whatever I can salvage around the area.”

“Is there a stream nearby?”

“Sort of? There are a couple of trails from my house that lead to a stream, but it’s not the best location to fish. There’s one where I usually drive to where you’re allowed to fish, and that’s where I caught this one.” 

“It’s certainly a handy skill to have.”

“That just sounds like a backhanded compliment.” Will laughs. 

“It’s a skill I admire,” Hannibal retorts. “There’s some satisfaction in knowing that you’ve caught whatever you’ve prepared.”

“Yeah, the meat tastes just like sweet victory, I bet.” 

“Now you’re the one teasing me.”

“I like to return favors.”

They exchange a smile at that. 

“What else do you do in your spare time?” Hannibal asks. 

“Not much, other than fishing and fixing some motorboats.” Will grins. “What can I say, I’m a boring man. My work _is_ my hobby.”

“Some would say that it’s fortunate that your hobby can become your profession.”

Will snorts. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” he teases.

Hannibal smiles in acknowledgment. “Why motorboats?”

“Hmm, I was influenced by my dad maybe? They’re different from car engines, and it’s fun to pick them apart, see how they work.”

While Hannibal prefers to pick at people’s minds, it seems that Will is more hands-on in his curiosity.

“Do you know how to sail, then?”

“Yeah, I recently picked it up again. I was definitely rusty at it, but it helped that dad used to bring me around on his jobs. Taught me a trick or two on how to tie a knot, raise the sails, that kind of thing.”

“That sounds interesting.”

“Does it really?” Will laughs. “Maybe you can come with me sometime.”

Hannibal smiles at the thought of sailing across the seas with Will. “I would love that. Do you play the piano?” 

“On and off.” Will grins. “To be honest, I’m pretty mediocre at best. I know enough to be called competent, but I wouldn’t win awards for it or anything. Tobias was teaching me how to tune it before he died. I haven’t touched it since.”

“Grieve affects us in the most peculiar ways sometimes.”

Will doesn’t comment on that, though he does hum around the mouthful of fish. “What about you? You look like someone who has a million hobbies and is somehow good at every single one of them.”

Hannibal chuckles, shaking his head. “My interests are varied, though I’ve honed my skills at those I’m particularly fond of.”

“Right. You play the harpsichord, you can draw — I saw your sketches in your office — you’re a culinary master chef and you were a surgeon before you opened your practice, so that suggests a high level of competence in both areas. Anything else you’d like to add to that?”

“I play the theremin as well.”

“Right, how could I forget. Before we move on: what’s a theremin?”

“I hope to show you what it is one of these days.”

Will laughs. “That just sounds an awful lot like a euphemism if I didn’t know you any better.”

“Thankfully, you do know me better than most.”

“Do you really think that?”

“Would you be interested in me if you don’t?”

Will leans back in his seat and rubs his hand against his chin, ruminating. “I think I know you as much as you’d let me.”

Hannibal raises a brow at that. “I suppose I can say the same for you.”

“I guess we’re cut from the same cloth.” Will shrugs. “We both have trust issues.”

“Then let’s try to put ourselves on equal footing, as a compromise.”

“Quid pro quo?” 

“If you’d like.”

“I think,” Will says slowly, “that this is entering into doctor-patient territory, and I’d rather not go into that when we’re having a nice dinner.”

Hannibal inclines his head and smiles. “Of course.” 

They finish the rest of the meal in relative silence, and Will insists on cleaning up the dishes once dinner is concluded. Hannibal makes himself at home by looking around the living room and study area when Will shoos him out of the kitchen. 

He makes his way to the piano first, looking at the music sheets displayed on it. _Debussy._ A gift from Tobias, perhaps? His gaze slides to a small urn displayed next to the piano, and he eyes it with some curiosity before he moves on.

He examines the books lining Will’s bookshelves with interest. The collection is eclectic, to say the least. On the first shelf, books on fly fishing, music, forensics, and psychology are scattered in between books on modern literature, crime thrillers, and biographies. There are a few dog ornaments displayed in between the books, which Hannibal notes with a smile. On the next shelf, there are worn-out recipe books (a pleasant surprise), poetry, science fiction, technical guidebooks (some of them are dog-eared, no doubt for ease of reference), and classic literature. A fascinating mismatch of interests, or perhaps a sign of a very well-read man. 

He files it away for later and goes to the opposite corner where there are fishing rods lined up against the wall and a work desk where Will was constructing his fishing lures. The contraptions on Will’s desk are not something he’s familiar with, and he studies them with interest for some time until Will emerges into the living room once more.

Will makes a motion for Hannibal to speak softly as he gestures to Buster, who’s fast asleep in front of the fireplace. The embers from the fire have died out during dinner, and Will shuts off the lights in the living room before he crosses the space to stand before him.

“So,” Will murmurs, a soft smile on his face. “Do you want a drink, or were you thinking of a different kind of dessert?” 

Hannibal smiles at that, closing the distance between them with a hand to Will’s chin. “Perhaps a taste of the digestif wouldn’t go amiss.”

“I have no idea what a digestif is, but I can take a guess,” Will says, eyes sparkling with humor. 

Leaning in, Will initiates the kiss and soon parts his lips for more. Hannibal returns it with equal fervor and places his hands on Will’s waist, pulling their bodies close. The kiss deepens in intensity, and when they begin to rut against one another, Will pulls away from him, his face already flushed. 

“Bed?” Will murmurs, eyes on Hannibal’s lips. 

“I recall you saying that you’d never ‘put out’ until after the third date,” Hannibal replies with a grin. 

Will huffs. “Technically, this is after. Also, respectfully: fuck you.” 

Hannibal chuckles at that and leans in to bite softly into Will’s lip. “How could I say no to that? Lead the way.”

Will does without further prompting. He leads them to his bedroom on the second floor of the house, and as soon as the door closes behind them, they gravitate towards one another, hasty hands pulling away at the articles of clothing in between impatient kisses. 

“Did you have to wear a suit today?” Will groans in frustration as his hands fumbled with Hannibal’s belt. 

A fair question; Will is already mostly naked except for his boxers while Hannibal is still struggling with his waistcoat. “A grave oversight,” Hannibal admits. Their hands work together to remove the remaining of Hannibal’s clothes. There’s a faint sound of something ripping in the midst of their hasty movements; it’s possibly his dress shirt. He finds that he can’t quite bring himself to care for the abuse of his clothing in such a manner. 

Will pulls Hannibal to him once they’re bare to each other and maneuvers them to fall onto the bed, Hannibal lying on his back as Will straddles him. Their lips meet together again, and they both moan into the kiss when Will ruts his body against Hannibal’s. Will’s erection lies heavy against Hannibal’s hips, and Hannibal slots their bodies together to enclose his hands around their cocks, using their pre-come to ease the friction. 

Moaning in appreciation, Will’s hands tighten on Hannibal’s waist as they begin to undulate against one another. 

“Fuck, yes,” Will breathes out against Hannibal’s cheek, the sensation of his trimmed beard almost foreign on Hannibal’s skin. It’s been a while since his last partner.

Hannibal turns his face to look at the way Will’s eyes flutter open and close in pleasure, beads of sweat beginning to form at his hairline before it falls from his skin and onto Hannibal’s. Though he’d never imagined such a sight before this, it’s not long before he finds that he needs to see more of it. 

“Will,” he murmurs, stilling his hand until Will faces him, the man groaning at the lack of movement. Hannibal moves his hand to caress Will’s backside with light, teasing touches. “May I?”

Will’s eyes dilate at the words, and he huffs in surprise before he grins. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Pulling away, Will leans to the bedside table and retrieves a packet of condom and a bottle of lubricant before he settles back on top of Hannibal. He stares at the condoms for a few seconds before he turns to Hannibal, licking his lips.

“Do you, uh… are you clean?”

Hannibal blinks. “My last check-up came clean, yes.”

“Mine, too, and I haven’t been anyone since… do you want to go bare?”

The near mention of Tobias’s name sets Hannibal’s teeth on edge, and he reverses their position by flipping Will over onto his back, the man laughs as he hits the mattress. 

“I guess that’s a yes,” Will teases. He reaches out to grab the lubricant and pops the cap open before he hands it to Hannibal. “Be my guest.”

“I hope you don’t let all of your guests do this to you,” Hannibal nearly growls, lathering his fingers with the liquid and warming it between his fingers. 

“Only the ones I really, really like,” Will replies with a cheeky smile.

That particular statement deserves a bite, and Hannibal does so mercilessly, though he only does it hard enough to elicit a surprised gasp from Will. 

He gives Will no respite then, his fingers teasing Will’s rim and probing it until the muscle relaxes slightly, all while he teases Will’s skin with biting kisses. When Hannibal slips his fingers inside after a few minutes, Will lets out a small sigh of satisfaction, his legs spreading wider as Hannibal stretches him open. It doesn’t take long before he has three fingers inside Will, the man hissing out encouragement until he finally sighs loudly.

“Do you want me to beg?” Will huffs, eyes fierce with desire. 

Hannibal’s aching cock twitches at the thought. “I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

“Then please, fuck me already,” Will replies, sounding breathless. 

Hannibal rewards him with a peck on the lips before he withdraws his fingers and positions himself above Will. They both groan in satisfaction when Hannibal finally breaches Will, and he does so slowly, pulling out and thrusting in again until the ring of muscle loosens around him. 

Will groans, his fingers digging into Hannibal’s arms. “I’m not going to break, Hannibal.”

“Let me take my time with you,” Hannibal murmurs, admiring the sight of the man writhing below him.

“God, I knew you’d be a sap in bed,” Will huffs. “Would you please fu—”

His words turn into a broken moan when Hannibal finally presses himself in. As far as silencing someone goes, Hannibal muses, this method proves to be the most enjoyable. He gives Will a few seconds to adjust to the feeling before he starts to move, relishing the way Will goes boneless and almost incoherent with every thrust. 

Though he has imagined this moment, he thinks even his vivid imagination could not compare to the actual sight of Will squirming restlessly beneath him. Will’s usually reticent nature has fallen to the wayside, his face slack with pleasure as he vocalizes his ecstasy. 

Hannibal doesn’t let up on his thrusts and he drinks down every moan that spills from Will’s lips. There’s something decadent in the way Will trembles beneath him, his body clenching around Hannibal so tightly with every drag of his cock in and out of him. The noises only grow louder when Hannibal aims his thrusts to that sensitive bundle of nerves. Will’s nails dig into his shoulders, sending a sting of pain through him. He welcomes the feeling and bites lightly into Will’s throat in return, drawing a desperate gasp out of the man.

With how closely their bodies are pressed together, Will’s leaking cock is trapped between their sweat-soaked bodies, and he tries to meet Hannibal’s thrusts to increase the friction against his cock to reach his orgasm. Hannibal doesn’t relent, and he winds one hand in Will’s curls as his other hand pinches one of Will’s nipples. He alternates between one nub to the next, and before long Will reaches his climax with Hannibal’s name spilling out of his lips.

Hannibal relishes the way Will clenches around him, and he continues to fuck Will through his orgasm, enjoying the sight of the man trembling and falling apart beneath him. Will is almost sobbing from the overstimulation, with how Hannibal’s hands still teasing his pebbled nipples and Hannibal’s cock still battering his prostate.

“Hannibal,” Will whimpers against Hannibal’s lips, his hands scrabbling against Hannibal’s shoulders. “Oh god, please—”

Ignoring the pleas, Hannibal continues to take his time, chasing his release until he finally spills inside Will’s quivering body. His eyes flutter close as his orgasm wracks through his body, and when he opens it again he stares in satisfaction at the sight of the debauched man underneath him.

Will is still catching his breath, lips parted and chest heaving with the exertion. Hannibal leans down to kiss him slowly. Now that they’re out of the heat of the moment, he kisses Will how he’s wanted to kiss him for so long. He alternates between tender and biting kisses and licks into Will’s mouth, their tongues lazily sliding together as they come down from their high.

Hannibal pulls out of Will after minutes of the languid kisses, sighing in satisfaction at the sight of the mess he has made. “Let me clean you up.”

Will only hums in agreement, his eyelids already growing heavy. “Bathroom’s through there,” he murmurs, fingers gesturing listlessly to where the en-suite bathroom presumably is.

Amused, Hannibal makes his way inside and gives himself a cursory wipe-down before he sets in search of a washcloth to use on Will. Once he finds that, he runs it under warm running water and wrings it before he makes his way back to Will.

Will is already half-asleep by the time Hannibal rejoins him. Hannibal wipes him down carefully, delighting in Will’s whimpers when the washcloth is pressed against his sore, puffy rim. Hannibal kisses Will’s cheeks softly when he finishes with the cleanup. When he rejoins Will on the bed, Will shifts to make room for him, and he slides into the space provided for him wordlessly. Will’s eyes are already closed, sated and content. 

“Stop staring and go to sleep,” Will murmurs, eyes still closed though his mouth is quirked in a soft smile.

Hannibal chuckles and settles himself against Will before he falls into a dreamless slumber.

The morning after is not something Hannibal appreciates typically, though he may need to revise his opinion when he wakes up to the sight of Will’s mouth wrapped around his stiffening cock. He doesn’t look up when Hannibal wakes, but he focuses intensely on what he’s doing, his tongue licking and lapping at him expertly. 

Instead of pulling away, Hannibal settles a hand into the soft curls as he starts to thrust into Will’s willing mouth. Will moans around his cock, and the resulting vibration has Hannibal shivering with pleasure. He keeps his thrusts shallow while he holds Will’s head in place, finally moaning in pleasure when he spills into Will’s mouth. 

Hannibal eyes the way Will swallows his come, the way he licks his lips when he finally pulls away. Sliding his body lazily along Hannibal’s, Will lounges against him and kisses him. Hannibal indulges in it, tasting himself while he licks into Will’s mouth. Never had he thought he would react in this way in response to such a provocative wake-up call. 

“Good morning,” Will rasps when he’s finally allowed to pull away, his voice hoarse from their activities. 

“A very good one,” Hannibal agrees, grinning. “Would you like me to return the favor?”

Will hums in contemplation before he shakes his head and smiles. “You can give me a hand in the shower?”

“An excellent idea.”

“I’ve been known to have one or two of them.”

“Shall we?”

“Mmm, five more minutes?”

They eventually make their way to the bathroom, where Hannibal proceeds to suck Will’s cock and buries his fingers inside him until he comes with a soft whimper. It’s a good thing that Hannibal is used to managing unconscious bodies by now, or he thinks he would have had some problem in washing the two of them up with the way Will slumps bonelessly against him once the orgasm was wrung out of him.

The rest of the morning passes by without further incident. Will makes breakfast for the two of them once Buster is fed, a simple fare that sits well with Hannibal. He’s mostly here for the company, after all.

After breakfast, Hannibal peruses Will’s library again to select a book from the shelves. Pausing once again at the sight of the forensic and psychology texts amongst the books, he turns to Will. The man is settling down into a seat at his work desk as he eyes the unfinished lure with a critical eye. 

“Are all of these books yours?” Hannibal asks. 

Will looks distracted, his eyes flitting to where Hannibal is standing. “Hmm? Some are gifts. Some of them came with the house, and I never got around to sorting them out. Same with the piano.”

Hannibal merely hums in acknowledgment before he selects one from the shelf, turning it over thoughtfully. “I recognized some of the titles. I was curious how you came to acquire some of them.”

Will gives a little shrug, already turning away to focus on his lures. “Like I said, some of them came with the house. Feel free to have a look.”

His tone makes it clear that he deems the matter settled, and Hannibal makes peace with the fact that he wouldn’t be getting any more answers from that particular line of questioning. 

Taking the book with him, Hannibal takes a seat in one of the couches near the fireplace, making sure that Will is in his line of sight so that he can look his fill in between his reading. It’s gratifying to be able to see Will in his elements. He has sequestered himself at his work desk, seemingly intent on finishing the lure he’s working on. The morning passes by in that manner before Buster begins to circle Will’s legs restlessly.

Will huffs at the interruption, though he doesn’t seem annoyed by it. Making a _tsk_ sound to Buster, he ties the lure with a flourish before he stands back to observe his work. Looking satisfied, he turns to Buster and gestures to the door, which sends the dog scrambling to the door.

Will chuckles and opens the door, watching as the dog sprints outside immediately at the first sign of freedom. 

He turns to Hannibal then, who has been watching all this take place in silent amusement. “Want to head out and stretch our legs for a little bit?” 

“Are you offering to take me on a walk?” 

Will laughs, shaking his head. “Come on, it’s a nice day outside. We can entertain Buster until my friend gets here.”

Lured by Will’s wide smile, Hannibal puts his book aside on the coffee table and follows Will outside, where Buster is running around in the cool winter air. There’s no snow as of yet, but the chill in the air indicates that they won’t be granted that reprieve for long. While Hannibal can appreciate the beauty of winter, he has never developed a love for snow. It reminds him too much of the dark Lithuanian woods covered in inches of snow, the sound muffled by it somehow. 

The clear sound of Will’s laughter shakes the thought out of him. Hannibal stares as Buster runs after Will, the man throwing a stick which he’s salvaged from somewhere. Will is dressed rather sparsely in a blue sweater and his pajama pants, forgoing aesthetics in place of comfort. He himself is dressed in one of Will’s old and over-large sweaters and the slack he wore yesterday. 

Truthfully, he had brought a change of clothes with him, but it lies untouched in the trunk of his car. He was curious at what Will would have to offer, and he wasn’t disappointed by the choice. There’s a faint trace of Will’s scent embedded in the sweater. He may be overindulging his imagination, but he savors the scent, imagined or not.

He leans against the porch’s railing, placing his hands on it as he gazes out at the sight of a happy and laughing Will running around with Buster at his feet, barking excitedly at every throw of the stick. Out of all the expressions he’s seen on Will’s face, Hannibal is rather fond of this particular one. Will’s joy shines through in abundance as he entertains Buster. He files it into the collection he has gathered in his memory palace; it’s increasing rather quickly, especially after the excellent time they had last night. 

The sound of an approaching car pulls his attention away, and his gaze shifts to where a small station wagon is pulling up to a stop in the driveway. 

Will sprints towards the car and Buster chases him, barking with excitement. The two of them greet the man emerging from the car, and Hannibal watches their interaction from where he’s situated on the porch.

The man gives an impression of frailty with the way he carries himself, his slumped shoulders looking as if it carries the weight of the world upon them. He has a wide smile on his face, however, when he spotted Will and Buster running towards him.

Hannibal watches from afar until Will’s eyes turn to seek his. At the eye contact, Will beckons Hannibal to join them, and he does so willingly.

“Peter, I want you to meet someone,” Will says as Hannibal approaches them. “Hannibal, this is Peter, my friend from the shelter.”

Peter busies himself with Buster, who’s barking for attention. Pulling the dog into his arms, Peter rises and stands awkwardly next to his wagon before his gaze alights on Hannibal’s general person.

Hannibal had thought Will had a clear distaste for eye contact before, but here is a man who seems to be almost scared of it. He’s careful not to make any sudden movement as he nods to Peter. Will notes the gesture with a smile, looking pleased at Hannibal’s quick understanding. 

“This is Hannibal,” Will says, placing the palm of his hand on Hannibal’s bicep. The touch warms him even through the thick sweater; there’s no mistaking the gesture for what it is. Coming from someone like Will, it feels like a small declaration of some sort. “I met him recently.”

“Yes, you’ve told me b-before,” Peter stutters out, eyes darting quickly between Hannibal and Will. He seems to have no issue with looking at Will directly. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you as well, Peter,” Hannibal says smoothly. “I’m glad Will has been talking about me. I would have thought that he had kept me hidden as a shameful secret.”

“I think that should be the other way around,” Will drawls, rolling his eyes. “I’m not the blue-blood royalty dating a low-class commoner here.”

“Will would never,” Peter agrees, smiling at Will. “He’s a very kind person.”

Will’s smile is warm as he looks at Peter. “Thanks, Peter. I’m glad you could make it today. How are the others doing?”

“Oh,” Peter says, brightening immediately, “they’re d-doing great! Zoe misses you; I think she knows I’m coming here today somehow. But they’re settling in well, and Jack got adopted yesterday.”

“That’s great,” Will beams. “I hope Buster would be able to behave with the rest. You’ll behave, won’t you Buster?” Will scratches Buster’s ear and grins when Buster yaps at him. “Yeah, you’ll do great.” 

“Thanks again, Will,” Peter says. “I’ll let you know how he’s d-doing.”

“I appreciate it. Have a safe drive. I’ll try to swing by when I’m free.”

Peter nods in acknowledgment before he turns to open the door of the car, depositing Buster inside the dog carrier buckled in at the passenger seat. Buster whines at being separated from Will, though he quiets down when Peter hands him a few treats. Getting inside the car, Peter rolls down the window to wave at them before he pulls out of the driveway and drives off. 

Once the car is out of their sight, Hannibal turns to Will, the man still smiling wistfully after the car that has long disappeared. 

“You seem to like dogs,” Hannibal comments.

Will seems to startle out of his thoughts as he turns to Hannibal. “Yeah, they’re great.”

“Do you go to the shelters often?”

“Not as often as I’d like.” Will laughs. 

“Is there a reason why you don’t own one?”

Will shrugs. “Not the right choice for my kind of lifestyle at the moment. I’d love to have one later, though. Maybe when I’m a retired old man.”

Hannibal hums. 

“Come on, let’s go back inside, it’s getting pretty cold.”

Will leads them back into the house, the warmth welcoming after the chilly air outside. Once Will has closed the door behind him, Hannibal takes advantage of the moment and leans close to Will, directing the man to lean against the wall before he kisses him. 

Though Will looks surprised for a split second, he doesn’t hesitate before reciprocating in kind and entwining his arms around Hannibal’s shoulders. Hannibal hums at the feeling of Will’s lips against his; rarely has he ever felt so driven with desire with anyone else, but something in him hungers for more of Will. It seems that Will is not faring any better as Hannibal feels his thickening cock rutting against him.

“Is this why you didn’t join me and Buster?” Will asks when Hannibal pulls away, smiling cheekily as he slots their bodies closer together. “You looking for a different kind of exercise, Doctor Lecter?”

Hannibal doesn’t dignify that with an answer, though he does pull Will towards his bedroom. They shed their clothes as soon as the bedroom door is closed, and it doesn’t take long for them to fall onto the bed again, Hannibal laying kisses against Will’s bare skin before he retrieves the lubricant from last night.

Will is looking up at him with intrigue as Hannibal slathers his fingers before he reaches out to finger at his rim, the action drawing a sharp inhale from Will. 

“Do you want some help with that?” Will asks eventually, sounding breathless.

Hannibal smiles and gestures to the lubricant. “Be my guest.”

Will grins at the echo of yesterday’s conversation, and he wastes no time in squeezing the lubricant out onto his fingers. Will's finger joins his as they stretch Hannibal out together for long minutes, eyes never leaving each other’s. It’s the strangest sort of intimacy that Hannibal has never been able to reach with anyone before. The thought of being seen was not something he had thought to seek out before this. In this moment, Will is all he can focus on even if he’s the one being speared open.

At the stroke of Will’s fingers against his prostate, there’s an instant where he almost buckles over the man beneath him, and Will does it again, seeking out the spot insistently before Hannibal pulls his fingers out and kisses Will for all his trouble.

Will laughs against the biting kisses, though he hisses when Hannibal bites into his lip harder, the copper tang of Will’s blood filling his tongue at the action.

“Fuck, Hannibal,” Will breathes out, “I wanna fuck you.”

“Stay still,” Hannibal warns.

Will, looking more intrigued than chastened, lies back with his elbows propped on the bed, his eyes lingering on Hannibal.

Hannibal works more lubricant into his palm and slathers a generous amount of it onto Will’s cock, enjoying Will’s hitched breaths at the stroke of his hand around it. He indulges in the sight for several seconds before he straddles Will and lowers himself onto Will’s cock.

Will hisses, his hands gravitating towards the globes of Hannibal’s backside, encouraging him to penetrate himself on Will’s cock. The burn from the stretch feels exquisite, the knowledge that he’s taking Will inside his body heightens his pleasure. Hannibal only gives himself a few moments to calm down once Will is completely seated inside him before he starts to move.

They both groan as Hannibal begins to drive himself up and down Will’s cock, the penetration becoming more pleasurable with every thrust. Will’s hands have settled onto Hannibal’s hips now, stroking the skin there in appreciation. Hannibal notes how Will isn’t pushing for more, letting him set the pace. And that, well — that deserves some rewarding.

Pausing in his movements to place his hands on Will’s chest, Hannibal resumes with a punishing rhythm, groaning in pleasure when Will’s cock grazes against his prostate repeatedly. He starts pinching Will’s nipples then, reveling in the way Will arches his back, pushing deeper into Hannibal with the action. 

“Hannibal,” Will moans, his fingers pressing into Hannibal’s hips. “Fuck, you feel so good.” 

One of Will’s hands wanders to Hannibal’s cock, but he growls and pushes it away. 

“Stay still, Will,” Hannibal grunts, eyes boring into Will’s. 

Will makes a frustrated sound, though his hand returns to Hannibal’s hips and settles there, just where Hannibal wants him.

Pleased, Hannibal repeats the motions with his fingers as he keeps on impaling himself on Will’s cock until Will whimpers with his release, overcome with pleasure. He keeps on using Will’s cock until it’s nearly softened, and only then does he take his cock in hand to stroke himself to completion, painting Will’s belly and chest with his release. 

Groaning with relief, Will pulls Hannibal towards him for a sloppy kiss, though it’s more of an exchange of breaths with how breathless they are. Pulling away, Hannibal looks down on his handiwork with satisfaction. He smiles at the picture Will makes, marked by his come and the bruises he has left on him last night. 

“Beautiful,” Hannibal praises, raising his hips to slip Will’s cock out of his sore hole. 

Sighing deeply, he lies on top of Will, smearing their bodily fluids between them with the movements. He’s always been a fastidious person, but in this, he lets the primal part of him take over his senses as he lays languid atop of Will, inhaling as he noses at Will’s throat. 

Will huffs, though he doesn’t move away from Hannibal’s wide embrace. “You’re acting just like a cat. Didn’t take you for a freak in the sheets, by the way, though I’m not complaining.”

“Good,” Hannibal purrs. “Because I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

A full-body shiver travels through Will’s body at that, and Hannibal grins at the reaction. 

“Fuck,” Will groans. “I think you’ll be the death of me.”

“If you mean _la petite mort,_ then I certainly hope to achieve that often.” 

So saying, he directs his attention to one of Will’s nipples again, tugging and nibbling at it until Will moans beneath him.

“Christ.” Will gasps, his cock twitching slightly. “Give a guy a time to breathe.” 

Hannibal chuckles, moving away to kiss Will lightly instead. “I had no idea you would be so sensitive.”

Will rolls his eyes. “Something tells me you’re going to use that to your advantage.”

“We’ll discover more of your erogenous zones together, I’m sure,” Hannibal purrs.

“Stop, I mean it,” Will laughs. “God, I should have figured you’d be a control freak in bed, too.”

Hannibal hums. “I have no idea what gave you that impression.”

“Don’t play coy with me.” Will’s eyes crinkle with laughter. 

Another soft kiss to those swollen lips before Hannibal shifts himself off of Will, settling on his side more comfortably instead. His body is sticky with their release, but he can’t find it in himself to particularly care right now, not when he can stare and appreciate the sight of Will’s debauched state instead. 

“You should really dial down with the creepy staring,” Will teases, though he doesn’t tear his eyes away from Hannibal’s either.

Hannibal chuckles. “I like to appreciate beautiful things.”

The flush on Will’s face is becoming on him, and Hannibal smiles at the sudden shyness. 

“Fuck, you can’t just say stuff like that,” Will murmurs, closing his eyes. 

Choosing not to comment on that, Hannibal changes the subject: “Technically, I’m a count.”

Predictably enough, Will’s eyes fly open, looking confused. “What?” 

“You mentioned earlier that I’m a ‘blue-blood royalty’. While it’s not incorrect, it’s not the most exact term either. I’m not exactly royalty.”

Will huffs, shaking his head. “Really? You’re taking issues with the way I phrase things while we’re in bed?” He frowns a few seconds later. “Wait, what do you mean you’re a count?”

“It means that I am technically Count Hannibal Lecter the Eighth,” Hannibal explains, relishing the wide-eyed shock on Will’s face. “I never used the title. There’s no such place for it in the American society, and it’s not one I’d rather use as it’s one that I earned by being born into the ‘right’ family. The title would likely die with me, and thus ends the rest of the Lecter lineage.”

Will blinks rapidly at Hannibal’s sudden confession, and his eyes soften at the mention of his lineage, possibly deducing that the rest of Hannibal’s family had perished in some way or another.

“So you’re telling me I just slept with a count to fuck with my head?” Will asks, looking amused.

“I’m telling you so that you wouldn’t be surprised, should it come up again in the future.”

“Right,” Will replies warily. “I hope you’ll excuse me if I don’t address you as Count Lecter.”

“Please, I’d rather you don’t.”

Will laughs. “I’ll continue to call you Doctor Lecter, though, if that’s what you’d prefer,” he purrs, his eyes glinting with mischievousness. 

Hannibal raises a brow. “Is there a particular reason you like to call me ‘doctor’, Will?”

Will grins in reply. “A subject we can explore for another day, I think.”

And well, Hannibal couldn’t quite resist pulling Will in for another kiss for that.

Needless to say, they never did get much done for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, RL got in the way. I hope the longer chapter (and the updated rating) make up for it ;)
> 
> Merry Christmas and happy holidays!


	8. an escalation

Hannibal ended up staying over for a late lunch and early dinner with Will before reluctantly parting for the weekend. Their recent intimacy seems to have affected Will as well, as he agreed to meet for lunch on Wednesday before their scheduled “conversations” on Friday night, which is likely to turn into an overnight stay with the way Will had kissed him goodbye.

He spends the next Monday in pleasant recollections of the weekend he had spent with Will. He meets with Bedelia for his usual appointment later in the afternoon. Bedelia receives him with a small smile and an offer of a drink before they sit together in their customary positions in her stylishly decorated living room. 

Remembering the last conversation he’s had with Bedelia, he opens the conversation in a similar vein.

“I met with Will Graham again on Friday,” he begins. “He invited me over to his house for the weekend.”

A faint raise of Bedelia’s eyebrow is the only answer he gets for several moments as Bedelia takes a drink before replying. 

“I’m assuming you took my advice into account in regards to trust, then?”

Hannibal thinks on that for a few seconds. “We had… conversations which had led to increasing intimacy.”

Bedelia stares at him, unimpressed.

“I have made my walls more scalable,” Hannibal admits. 

“And how do you feel about that?”

Hannibal swirls the wine in his hand before taking a few sips, his gaze fixed on the landscape beyond the windows. “I feel flayed open, at times. Will hides his scrutiny well, but it’s there nonetheless.”

“It can be an uncomfortable experience, letting yourself be seen,” Bedelia agrees, her hand playing with the clasp of her watch. “Trust can only be built over time.”

“Have you had similar experiences?”

Bedelia’s smile is polite, distant. “We are here to discuss you, Hannibal.”

“I had thought we were friendly enough to share our thoughts.”

Another polite smile. “I am your psychiatrist.” She stares at him for a moment before relenting. “My trust doesn’t come easy. But once given, it’s given freely.”

“A dangerous way to live.”

“Trust can also be revoked.” Bedelia’s eyes are hard as she takes a sip of her drink. Her tone doesn’t leave room for further intrusion into her past.

“I may have allowed him to scale the walls, but I don’t think we’re at the point where we can trust each other fully.”

“Does that frustrate you?”

Hannibal tilts his head. “It does, slightly,” he decides. “Will is adept in constructing walls, as well. His mind is more fortified than most.”

“A rare challenge for you, then. It’s no wonder you’re so taken.”

“Is that what you think this is? That I’m only interested in him because he’s a challenge?”

“It’s one interpretation of it. Do you need reasons to find yourself attracted to him?”

A pause. “It sounds trivial when you put it in such terms.”

“Trust goes both ways. Perhaps you would need to broach the subject with him.”

Hannibal can hardly admit that there’s an added layer to Will without revealing the details of what he discovered based on Freddie Lounds’s tip. As it is, perhaps he would need to find a different approach.

The next day, Hannibal makes his way to Johns Hopkins — where Abel Gideon had previously worked as a surgeon — under the pretense of meeting up with an old colleague. Afterward, he chats with several of the familiar faces who are still around. 

They prove to be useful insomuch as supplying him with the information he already knows. Several of the nurses he was friendly with are much more forthcoming with the information they have, confirming the claims that they have received some form of abuse from Gideon when the man was working there.

His questions on Gideon’s past paramour seem to draw a blank from most of them, except for one nurse. 

Elizabeth Gray is Johns Hopkins’ most infamous gossip even while Hannibal was still working as a trauma surgeon. Though he’d been the focus of her gossip once or twice, the gossip had centered on innocuous and forgettable subjects, and so he ceased to be the talk of the hospital after some time. 

Now, she proves her merit as she talks in great detail about what she knows of Gideon and his grave misdeeds.

“Oh, yes. I’ve seen a young man like that hanging around here sometimes, coming to meet Gideon,” Elizabeth says, her tone ominous. “Sweet as a peach, and he looks all innocent-like. I don’t get why such a sweet boy would hang around someone like Gideon. Suppose he didn’t know the man’s true colors.” Elizabeth sniffs, shaking her head. “He came by once with his face all smashed up. Gideon brought him here, all panicked like, saying the boy had taken a terrible tumble. I’ll bet my grandnana’s fortune that he got those bruises from someone’s fist because that’s exactly what it looked like. You were the one who patched him up that night, weren’t you, Sharon?”

Sharon nods, looking grave while the other nurses commiserate over Will’s fate. “Didn’t look like a tumble down the stairs to me.” 

“Poor boy,” another nurse coos. “What happened to him?”

“Didn’t want to say anything to anyone at the time,” Sharon replies, shaking her head. “Didn’t seem like he trusted anyone at all, refused to speak until Gideon took him away. That was the last I saw of him.”

Elizabeth turns her shrewd eyes to Hannibal then. “Is there a reason you’re asking about Doctor Gideon and that young man, Doctor Lecter?”

“I was reminiscing with Doctor Carruthers earlier about our time here, and we got to the subject of Abel Gideon,” he lies smoothly, putting on his polite smile. “Though I wasn’t familiar with him at the time, as I had already left Johns Hopkins when he came in. Of course, it was hard to miss the sordid details of the murder of his wife and family.”

“Yes, it was quite a shock at the time!” Elizabeth exclaims, tutting and shooting knowing looks at the other nurses. “No one took our complaints seriously about him, and look where that got them! Those poor souls, they didn’t deserve their fates.”

“Oh no.” The same nurse who had looked worried at Will’s fate looks nauseous as she voices her worries, “I hope that young man is okay.”

As someone who’s currently dating the “young man”, Hannibal doesn’t share the same worries. If Elizabeth Gray’s observations are true, then Will may have gotten his revenge on Abel Gideon somehow.

With that particular avenue exhausted, Hannibal tries to find other ways to seek into Will’s past. 

In between his practice and day-to-day routines, he scours the internet for any mention of Will Graham. Predictably, the results don’t turn up much, but he does repeat the searches to include Abel Gideon’s name in the hopes that it would yield something. Unfortunately, this too does not give him any successful results. 

His inquiries amongst the Quantico staff about Will Graham did not turn up with much success either. Alana Bloom had only interviewed him once, and the BAU had no reason to look into Will’s background beyond what is required for them to corroborate his witness statement. 

Hannibal recalls the forensic texts and journals in Will's home; the books did not look as if they were neglected on the bookshelf when he had visited. He has a strong feeling that Will has studied — or at least has a strong interest in — forensics before this, but there’s not much else to point him in a clearer direction, short of confronting Will directly with his suspicions. He doubts Will would be so forthcoming to such a direct attack, and that line of questioning has proved to be futile when he had attempted it before.

Will seems like a private man who doesn’t have many acquaintances around him. His latest paramour had turned up dead, while his only friend doesn’t seem inclined to speak to others. He wonders how Will had met someone like Abel Gideon in the first place.

His reverie is interrupted by a particular loud sob, and Hannibal blinks. 

Franklyn looks at him tearfully, waiting until Hannibal meets his eyes before he continues to count out his woes.

Though Franklyn has more or less moved on from the subject of his deceased friend, he has managed to find other ailments, and he is now using his slotted time to complain of his neurotic tendencies. It’s the same dull thing every week, and Hannibal had decided that today would be Franklyn’s final session with him. 

At exactly five minutes before the end of the session, Hannibal drops the news and watches Franklyn’s distraught reaction at being given a referral.

“Another referral?” Franklyn laments. _“You_ were a referral!”

Hannibal is sitting back in his seat with his legs crossed. “I’m afraid I'm no longer of use to you, Franklyn. In light of all that’s happened, I believe we have made all the progress that we could, but I can no longer be your psychiatrist. You focused too much on me instead of your therapy.”

“Is it because I keep on talking about our friendship?” Franklyn asks, looking desperate for an answer.

“Therein lies the problem — there can be no friendship between a therapist and their patient, Franklyn. I’m sorry, I think it’s best if you see another psychiatrist.”

Franklyn sighs, looking dejected as he stares at the envelope in his hand. “Who are you referring me to?”

“You’ll find all the details in the envelope,” Hannibal says, trying to be as patient as possible. This would, after all, be the last time he sees Franklyn. Hopefully. “The doctor will start seeing you next Wednesday if you’re available.” Looking at the watch on his desk, Hannibal rises. “I believe our time is up.”

Sighing, Frankly rises as well and extends a hand. “Well, I suppose it’s been nice to talk with you.”

Hannibal shakes Franklyn’s hand gingerly. “Indeed. I will see you out.”

“So hey, since we’re technically no longer doctor and patient, I guess we can see each other outside of—”

Franklyn’s words cut out as soon as Hannibal opens the door to the exiting room, both of them surprised at the presence of Will on the other side of the door. 

“Will,” Hannibal says, blinking rapidly before he recovers. “What a surprise.”

Will looks sheepish as his gaze goes from Franklyn to Hannibal, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Uh, sorry. Haven’t been here in a while, I forgot I was supposed to use the other entrance.” 

“It’s no issue,” Hannibal says, smiling at Franklyn’s indignant sputter at that. “As this is my last appointment with Franklyn, this ceases to be a problem.”

“You didn’t tell me he was still your patient,” Franklyn accuses Hannibal, looking disappointed.

“This matter is not pertinent to your therapy, Franklyn.” Hannibal quells him with a look, though it seems that Franklyn is no longer cowed by it. He looks particularly annoyed at Will’s presence.

“So are you the one taking my slot?” Franklyn sneers, though he looks pained at his own suggestion. “Came here to take over my place in this, too?”

Will looks more bewildered than offended at the question. “Oh, I’m not— I’m not his patient.”

Looking aghast, Franklyn’s eyes widen as he turns to Hannibal. “Wait, are you telling me you two are da—”

“I’m sorry Franklyn, I must ask you to leave,” Hannibal says firmly, almost tempted into shoving Franklyn aside to let Will in. As it is, he only steps back and opens the door wider, gesturing for Will to step inside. “I wish you all the best with your therapy.”

“But—” 

Once Will is inside, Hannibal gives Franklyn another quelling look before he closes the door in the man’s face. He sighs and puts himself together before turning back to Will, who’s looking amused at the exchange. 

“What was that all about?” Will asks, chortling. 

Hannibal sighs. “I’ve given Franklyn a referral to another psychiatrist.”

“Ah,” Will says simply, comprehension dawning on his face. “Guessing that didn’t turn out too well.”

“As you can see,” Hannibal says dryly. He steps forward and pulls Will by the waist to bring him closer. “More importantly, I wasn’t expecting you just yet.”

“I know, I’m a bit early for the lunch date,” Will murmurs, grinning cheekily. “I really did forget about the other entrance, sorry. I was thinking about something else.”

“Oh? Anything in particular?”

Will flushes, though instead of answering he pulls Hannibal in for a lingering kiss, the touch of his lips soft and hesitant. It’s amazing just how many facets there are to Will, and he can never predict which version of the man he would get at any given moment. He lets himself enjoy the soft touch. He returns the tentative kiss with more fervor, though he’s content not to take it any further, letting Will take the lead.

They pull apart after minutes, Will looking more flushed and wondrously happy. 

“I just wanted to confirm that,” Will murmurs into the small space between them. His swollen lips are a distracting sight.

“Confirm what?” Hannibal caresses the back of Will’s neck, enjoying the way Will shivers at the touch.

“That the weekend wasn’t all just… some kind of fever dream or something induced by it. I wanted to see if it would still feel the same when we’re not trapped in that little bubble.”

Hannibal is charmed and warmed at the thought. “And how did that make you feel?” 

Will laughs, shaking his head. “Shut up, you’re so insufferable sometimes.”

He smiles in answer, his gaze traveling from Will’s coiffed curls to his shined shoes. “Did you dress up for the date?”

Will flushes. “I didn’t know where you’d be taking me. Thought I’d play it safe and dress up in the best work clothes I have.”

Smiling, Hannibal leans in to plant another soft kiss on Will’s parted lips. “You look wonderful. The color you chose certainly brings out your eyes.”

Eyes dilated and face flushed, Will makes an effort to pull away, a small smile on his lips. “We should get going before we end up skipping lunch altogether.”

Though the idea of taking Will right here and then in the office ignites something in him, but he tamps it down and reminds himself that Will deserves to be treated to a proper date before he’s ravished again.

“Certainly. Shall we?”

Aside from the lunch date with Will and Franklyn’s overdue referral, nothing truly noteworthy happens for the next few days for Hannibal. Jack has been rather silent after the last meeting he’s had with the BAU, which suggests that they’re no closer to figuring out the identities of the killers they have on hand and Jack is still trying to gather more evidence to confirm the latest victim as a Chesapeake Ripper’s kill.

As distracted as he has been with his deepening relationship with Will and trying to find out more about the man’s past, Hannibal only remembers to check _TattleCrime_ on Thursday evening, browsing through the website in his bed before he goes to sleep. There are several articles since he’s last checked the website, and the latest one was posted only yesterday. 

The headline immediately catches his attention, and his smile grows with every word he reads:

> **The Chesapeake Ripper Returns!**
> 
> _By Freddie Lounds_
> 
> Word on the grapevine is that the Chesapeake Ripper is back, and yet there hasn’t been a single peep from our dubiously friendly neighborhood spy. Of course, you can never count on the FBI to tell you the whole truth. 
> 
> While that is certainly not news to any of us who are familiar with how the FBI works, never fear, dear readers, for _TattleCrime_ is here.
> 
> According to sources close to the FBI, Patrick Reynolds, [the latest murder victim who was discovered at the Baltimore Opera House](), is now suspected to be a victim of one of Baltimore’s most notorious serial killers, the Chesapeake Ripper. Those who have heard of the Ripper are no doubt familiar with his previous kills, most of them so gruesome that there is little doubt in anyone’s mind that the Ripper is one sadistic psychopath. 
> 
> (Those who need a refresher course on who exactly the Ripper is and his body counts are encouraged to look through the articles tagged with “[ #Chesapeake Ripper ]()”.)
> 
> While the sources declined to comment further on this latest murder victim, I have personally followed the trail from these tips and can confirm that the suspicion is founded on truth in this particular case. There are records from the autopsies that hinted at the fact that this latest victim had been missing some essential organs when he was found. Needless to say, this particular act of organ removal has been one of the Ripper’s trademarks in his previous kills. From the evidence (which the FBI has kept from the public), it’s fair to assume that there is a high probability that we are looking at the latest victim of the Chesapeake Ripper, two years after his radio silence. 
> 
> This latest resurgence of an infamous serial killer also serves to highlight the FBI’s incompetence in catching their killers. One truly has to wonder where the taxpayer’s money is going when we have [three]() [separate]() [killers]() on the loose.
> 
> While little is known on whether or not the FBI is getting closer to catching the Chesapeake Ripper, I can promise you, dear readers, that I will keep the public up-to-date on the latest news while the law enforcement continues their fumble in the dark in search of this elusive killer.

Hannibal clicks through the various links littered in the articles, amusement coursing through him as he reads on. It seems that Freddie Lounds has been very busy, indeed. How she manages to uncover that there are three killers on the loose remains to be discovered. Freddie does have a way with people, and Hannibal suspects she has fewer scruples in using less savory ways to extract information out of said sources. 

No doubt Jack and his team are trying (and possibly failing) to do some damage control or trying to silence Lounds. He has a feeling that Jack would summon him and Alana in another day or two once he catches wind of this latest article.

Closing the tablet, Hannibal contemplates the other two killers who have remained rather silent ever since he’s dropped his tableau. Were they so busy with their lives that they have not kept up with the latest news? Doubtful. Most of the killers are highly interested in what the media and the public have to say about them (as he should know). Or maybe they were still thinking of how to respond to the Ripper’s tableau? 

Or did they not see the message for what it was?

Disappointing, if that was the case. 

Perhaps these fledgling killers require another push.

Friday evening brings Hannibal some much-needed entertainment and company in the form of Will Graham.

Though he still deigns to accept the invites to the socialite parties and events around Baltimore, he is increasingly bored with these occasions, only making exceptions for a few select performances whenever his social calendar permits it. With Will in his life, those social engagements have effectively been reduced in the last month, and he doesn't mind this aberration in his routine in the slightest.

Their weekly dinners have turned into something that Hannibal looks forward to as their verbal sparring continues over dinner like they are still acting out the part of doctor and patient. It’s something that he’s come to appreciate. He enjoys dissecting Will as much as Will seems to enjoy turning the knife on Hannibal. They are fairly matched in that sense, at least.

As Will is staying at his house over the weekend, their usually charged dinner takes on a more softened approach, Will looks less and less defensive at Hannibal’s probing questions with every sip of the wine he takes. While Hannibal likes the fiery stance of Will’s words, there’s something to be said with Will being so warm and open with him. 

Even more so when Will acts similarly soft and receptive in bed. The sight of Will overwhelmed with desire and giving himself over to Hannibal never fails to arouse that primal instinct in him, and their tender lovemaking is likely to turn feral within minutes, depending on Will’s whims. He’s almost shocked at how much he enjoys the tug and pull in their relationship. He has never been as captivated by anyone else as he is with Will, and it seems as if Will returns the sentiment.

Though he happily gives in to his need and desire for a relationship, there’s also a small part of him that wishes Will could truly see him, in all his entirety. He had some thoughts on this particular desire of his, and were he not so invested in the outcomes of this revelation of his person suit, he would’ve hastened the removal of the blindfold over Will’s eyes.

As it is, the thought of rejection terrifies him.

It’s a strange feeling, one that Hannibal doesn’t feel equipped to handle for the moment. And so he pushes this need aside for an examination on another day.

In the meantime, he gluts himself with Will whenever he can while he has him over for the weekend. Once Will is thoroughly exhausted on Saturday night, he waits until the man falls asleep before he rises out of bed. After checking that Will is truly out for the night, he dresses as fast as he could, taking care to pack his plastic suit in his briefcase before he goes out for the night.

The next morning, he greets Will for breakfast as if nothing untoward had occurred, and Will only yawns and comments on how tired he was last night before sitting down for the meal that awaits him. Hannibal is only too happy to attribute Will’s exhaustion and drowsiness to their more vigorous activities last night, and Will only raises an amused eyebrow before he inhales the food Hannibal provides for him.

Not for the first time, Hannibal wonders if Will would similarly savor the meat on his tongue once he knows just who he is eating.

Early next week, Hannibal answers Jack’s call with the appropriate amount of nonchalance and subsequent surprise when the man announces grimly that there have been two suspected Ripper kills. 

He shows up to Quantico as soon as he manages to rearrange the rest of his appointments, Alana joins him only moments later in the BAU’s lab. The Ripper’s latest victims were already laid down on the autopsy table for the forensics team’s study, Jack’s grim face oversees the autopsy as Beverly, Jimmy and Brian go over the facts they had thus far.

“So far it looks like we’ve got most of the components that make this a Ripper kill,” Brian says, peering at the cuts made into the victim’s body. “Except for the most crucial part: the organs.”

“He took the brains from the first vic,” Beverly says, looking at the cavern of the man’s sawed open head in faint distaste. “All of the other organs remain intact.”

“What about the second victim?” Jack queries, eyes heavy.

“As far as we can tell, nothing,” Brian replies, looking stumped. “Which is weird for a Ripper’s kill if you ask me.” 

“Perhaps it’s part of the intended message of his display?” Hannibal suggests.

Hannibal and Alana are off to the side, staring at the photos of the crime scene pinned on the board, trying to decipher the meaning behind the tableaux the Ripper has set. 

“The brain being the only missing thing is supposed to signify something?” Brian asks, brows raised.

“The Ripper always has a message for everything,” Alana replies. “He’s whimsical in that sense.”

“Indeed,” Hannibal agrees, turning his attention back to the photos. “The brain is an intricately wired meat. And the two bodies’ arrangement seem to suggest a particularly important message.”

“Like what, Doctor Lecter? What do you see?” Jack asks as he approaches the two of them.

Hannibal hesitates. “If I have to take a guess? The positioning seems to mirror a king residing on his throne, with the jester playing an instrument for the king’s entertainment.”

“The king and his fool?” Alana’s brow furrows. “That’s a pretty specific image.” 

“Are you suggesting that this message is meant for someone in particular?” 

Hannibal and Alana exchange a look, and Alana sighs before turning back to Jack.

“We were talking about the case when Reynolds’ body was found last time,” Alana replies. “That the Ripper resurfacing was possibly due to these two new killers running around. We were bouncing theories, and it’s most likely that the message is meant to taunt the two killers.” 

Jack lets out a loud sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So this is the Ripper’s way of saying that he’s the king and the other killers are the fool playing to the Ripper as he sits on his throne? What the hell?”

“It’s a fair comparison. The Ripper does seem to have some kind of god complex,” Alana sighs.

“How so?” Hannibal turns to Alana, curious. 

Alana shrugs. “He fancies himself as some sort of judge of his victims, considering the crime scenes discovered so far. In his eyes, he’s passing judgment on these people. I suppose the Ripper thinks he's beyond us mere mortals, hence this… elevation of his superiority complex.”

Hannibal hums in agreement, delighted at Alana’s interpretation. 

“But why remove the organs?” Alana muses. 

“It could be a way to desecrate their bodies before death,” Hannibal suggests. “If we are to go with your god-complex direction.”

“Or it could be a way for him to say: ‘you didn’t reach your full potential and you didn’t deserve these organs in life or death’?” Alana frowns. 

“Perhaps,” Hannibal allows.

“Does he just keep them as trophies or something?” Jimmy says, making a face at the thought. “Why would you even need a brain in a jar, is all I’m asking.”

“He’s one step away from becoming one of those cartoon mad scientists, if that was true,” Beverly says, laughing.

Hannibal is almost amused at the comparison, though he keeps his silence. Better they think the Ripper a mad scientist than a cannibal.

Jack lets out a loud sigh before he turns to glare at them all, effectively shutting down the playful tone in their conversation. “Since I have you all here,” he says, eyes narrowing, “anyone care to tell me how it is that Lounds got wind of the last crime scene being a Ripper kill?”

Jimmy and Brian exchange glances while Beverly only stares at Jack defiantly while she denies it has anything to do with her. 

Hannibal clears his throat, looking sheepish. “I’m afraid that was my fault, Jack.”

Jack turns to him, looking surprised before his brows furrow in annoyance.

As Hannibal expected, Alana hurriedly interrupts what looks to be the beginning of either an interrogation or a tirade from Jack. “It was both of our fault, Jack,” she cuts in, looking chastened. “We were discussing the case on Quantico grounds and Lounds happened to be around while we weren’t paying attention.”

Hannibal throws a small smile to Alana. Building solidarity with her was an easy endeavor, and he finds her a useful ally now.

Jack glares at the two of them before he lets out a loud, aggravated sigh. “I’d like you two to be more careful with Lounds; I’ve already gotten her thrown out once or twice from Quantico but she keeps finding her way back in somehow. Let’s try to keep this latest crime scene from becoming her latest exposé.”

“Uh,” Jimmy says reluctantly, wincing as all eyes turn to him. “That might be a bit too late. I think I saw an alert for her latest article almost an hour ago.”

Jack lets out a string of expletives while the rest of them avert their gazes. “And you didn’t think to tell me this before?”

“I thought you saw it earlier,” Jimmy says, wide-eyed. 

“Where the hell does she keep getting her intel?” Jack curses.

Hannibal smiles inwardly. He wonders what dear Jack would think if he knew that the Ripper had left the clues necessary for Freddie to find the crime scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it appropriate to end 2020 with Hannibal being such a cheeky asshole? 😂 
> 
> At any rate, I wish everyone a happier new year!


	9. revelation

As Franklyn has been referred to another psychiatrist, Hannibal finds himself happily at leisure to invite Will to another lunch date the next day, which Will had readily agreed to. Though he shouldn’t be surprised at Will’s eagerness, he’s thrilled at the thought that Will is as eager to see him as often as he wants to see Will.

Will uses the correct entrance this time around, smiling cheekily at Hannibal when he seems to intuit his thoughts. 

“Hey,” Will greets him as he enters. He doesn’t bother with shedding his coat, as they would be leaving for lunch soon enough once Hannibal has sorted out his notes for his morning patients. After closing the door behind him, Hannibal crowds Will into the room until Will is forced to perch himself on his work desk, Hannibal slotting himself between Will’s legs before they both lean in for a kiss. 

“Hey again,” Will murmurs once they’ve pulled apart, a wide smile on his face. Hannibal watches the way Will is silhouetted against the afternoon light washing in through the window panels, the play of light on Will’s curls and his features making him itch to sketch the sight and burn it into his memory palace all at once.

Before he can give words to that thought, however, there’s a loud knock on the office door, and both of them turn as one to glance at the unexpected noise.

“You expecting someone?” Will frowns.

Shaking his head, Hannibal finds himself frowning as well. “No. Perhaps it’s an emergency. Let me check—”

There’s another impatient knock, three raps against the door, and Hannibal’s brows raise at the inherent rudeness of the action. 

Will raises his brow and gestures to the door. “Maybe it is. Go ahead. Should I wait outside?”

“No, stay right where you are,” Hannibal says, his frown growing heavier. “I don’t tolerate such rudeness. Give me a moment to turn them away.”

Will nods as Hannibal makes his way to the door, and he’s not sure who’s more surprised when Jack Crawford barges in once Hannibal swings the door open, talking over him immediately.

“Doctor Lecter, I apologize for this, but I need you to come with me right now to the crime scene—” Jack’s words cut off into silence when he sees Will glaring at him from where he’s perched on the desk.

“Mr. Graham,” Jack says, looking confused. 

“Agent Crawford,” Will replies, his voice flat. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Will raises a brow. “Think I should be asking you the same thing.”

Jack’s mouth snaps into a frown, then. “I’m here to call for Doctor Lecter’s expertise. For obvious reasons, you don’t need to know why.”

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Hannibal interrupts before Will could reply. “We were about to leave for lunch. What has made you come here in such a hurry? I usually expect a phone call for such emergencies.”

Jack’s gaze flits back and forth between Hannibal and Will. “I wasn’t aware Will was still seeing you.”

Indeed, the subject of Will Graham had not come up again between him and Jack for a while since the FBI agent did not find Will useful anymore as a witness. Hannibal had been happy to keep it that way. Now, though… maybe there’s some opportunity to be had in this unexpected meeting. 

For the moment, Hannibal tilts his head and quells Jack’s glare with a dissatisfied frown. “I wasn’t aware I needed to let you know what’s going on with my private life, Jack.”

Jack blinks, realization dawning on him in another split second. “I’m sorry, are you two… seeing each other… socially?”

Will snorts, shaking his head at the statement. “This is getting ridiculous. Are you going to tell us why you’re here, or am I supposed to just wait here until you get around to it?”

It’s amusing to see the obvious animosity between them. Jack’s unflappable calm seems to be fraying at the seams at Will’s antagonistic words, and he’s visibly trying to hold himself back from shouting at either of them. Hannibal wonders what Jack has done to deserve such ire from his lover. 

Jack lets out a loud sigh, deciding that ignoring Will is his best course of action. “Doctor Lecter, I’m sorry to interrupt your… date, but I need you to come with me to assist me with the case we’ve been working on.”

Another snort from Will. “You can say the Ripper. We’ve all heard of the latest killings by now, thanks to _TattleCrime._ ”

Looking like he’s seconds away from an outburst, Jack closes his eyes. He takes a deep inhale and seems to be counting down internally before he fixes his stare on Hannibal again. “It’s urgent. We may have a lead.”

Hannibal assesses Jack for several seconds before he nods. “Certainly. Shall I follow you in my car, or—” 

“You can come with me,” Jack cuts in. “I’ll have someone drop you off once we’re done. I’ll wait for you outside while you make… arrangements.” With that, Jack leaves as fast as he came, ignoring Will completely when he makes his exit. 

Will frowns as Hannibal comes to stand before him. “So, rain check?”

“I’m afraid so,” Hannibal murmurs, giving Will an apologetic smile. “Duty calls, especially when it comes in the guise of Jack Crawford.”

Will cracks a smile at that, though he looks disappointed. “Okay. I’ll see you later?”

“Of course.” Hannibal leans in to give Will a chaste kiss before he packs his belongings. “Let me walk you to the exit before Jack ferries me away.”

Laughing, Will follows him and gives him a wave as he jaunts towards his car while Hannibal joins Jack. The ride is mostly silent until Jack looks as if he can’t hold in his curiosity anymore. He’s impressed that Jack held off as long as he did, truth be told.

“So you and Will Graham.”

His lips quirk into an involuntary smile at the nonchalant tone Jack tries (and fails) to adopt. 

“I find him fascinating,” Hannibal says eventually, letting Jack make of that what he will.

Jack hums, feigning disinterest by keeping his eyes on the road. “And here I thought you’d only met him once for his therapy session.”

“Technically, the bureau never paid me for that first and only session, as it was undertaken voluntarily since Will approached me,” Hannibal reminds him. “We were never officially doctor and patient. I didn’t think you needed the sordid details, since it wouldn’t have figured into the cases we were investigating.”

Jack digests that silently before he segues to another track. “Does he seem… odd to you?”

“I’m not sure what you’re asking or insinuating, Jack.”

“I don’t think you know about the particulars of our interview with him, since Doctor Bloom was the one who helped us with the interviews for the String Killer case before you were officially brought on board.” Jack frowns at him. “We called him in for questioning since he was seeing Tobias Budge at the time. There was nothing he could help us with since he was away on a fishing trip the weekend Budge went missing. Had an alibi for the suspected time of Budge’s death and everything.”

“So he wasn’t a suspect.” Alana had told him as much the last time they had spoken of Will. 

“No, but of course we had to look into every possible link,” Jack agrees. “His seems to be a dead end. But…”

Hannibal lets the silence linger, looking closely at the way Jack’s frown creases his face.

“There was just something odd in the way he seems to answer around Doctor Bloom’s questioning,” Jack says eventually. “Seems to know all the psychological tricks. He didn’t act suspicious, and he seemed to be genuinely grieving. He knew how to handle Doctor Bloom, though.” His frown deepens. “I saw him mirroring some of her speech patterns and mannerism the longer they talked. Noticed him doing the same to me, though it didn’t look as if he did it on purpose.”

Amazing how perceptive Jack is sometimes, for all of his outward bluster. He must take care to conceal more of his mannerisms if he wants to escape the Head of BAU’s notice in the long run.

“He has confided that he suffers from some kind of empathy disorder when we first met,” Hannibal admits after a few minutes of silence. “Perhaps that’s what you see in him. He’s seen several therapists before this, enough to know all of their probing questions, no doubt.”

“That could be it,” Jack agrees slowly, though he doesn’t look convinced. He doesn’t say anything else, however.

With the silence settling between them, Hannibal’s thoughts turn to Will. 

The more time they spend together, the more curious he is about the unseen aspects of Will Graham. He had grown even more intrigued at the revelation that there’s more to Will than meets the eyes, considering the fate of his past lovers (if Gideon had indeed been Will’s “lover”, a term which Hannibal still sniffs at). 

More than the mystery of just who Will Graham really is, he wants to peel back Will’s skull to know what he’s thinking at any given time, wants to know what Will would think of the Chesapeake Ripper, wants to know what the meals taste like on Will’s tongue. 

But that, too, presents another unknown into the puzzle pieces. 

There’s no telling what Will’s reaction would be were he to find out about Hannibal’s past-time. The fear of rejection is one of the things stopping Hannibal from poking at the hornet’s nest, so to speak. After some reflection in the last few days, he’s also come to the slow realization that he doesn’t _want_ to intrude on Will’s privacy. It dawns on him that this uncharacteristic reluctance to cross that boundary is because he’d prefer Will to come to him willingly.

It’s disconcerting, to say the least, to discover this unwillingness to cross boundaries where he had never cared for it before this.

With Hannibal and Jack unsettled for different reasons, they spend the rest of the ride in silence until they reach their destination. 

Hannibal’s brow raises in surprise. “Is the Baltimore Opera House offering us more clues in our chase for the Ripper?”

“Nope,” Jack says grimly. “This time around, we have a fresh crime scene for you to dig yourself into.”

They make their way into the main hall of the opera house. The space is already crawling with several members of the law enforcement and the forensics team, most of them scattered around the perimeter of the center stage. 

Alana had gotten there earlier. She is standing several paces back from the stage, her gaze trained on the stage where Beverly, Jimmy, and Brian are busy collecting evidence. A photographer is taking several shots of the murder victim, her body strung up into a pose that mimicked the action of bowing to the audience.

Freddie Lounds’ face looked terrified in death. Except for her stricken expression, there were no significant wounds on her, at least not visible ones.

“We found her less than an hour ago,” Jack says wearily as the two of them approach the stage. “She would’ve been found much later if we hadn’t seen the article go up on _TattleCrime._ ” 

That gives Hannibal pause. He hasn’t had the opportunity to peruse _TattleCrime_ today. “Do you mean to say that she updated with an article before she was killed?”

Coming to a stop next to Alana, they acknowledge each other with silent nods before turning to Freddie’s body. 

“No,” Jack replies. “The article in question was _about_ her death.”

Hannibal is rather impressed by the theatricality of it all, though he couldn’t express the sentiment. “How unfortunate.”

“It’s horrible,” Alana says in a hushed voice. “I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, not even Freddie Lounds.”

Jack sighs. “The team’s been here for a while already. If you two would like to take a closer look, be my guest, but please mind that you don’t disturb the body. No fingerprints or shoe prints or any evidence found so far, but we’re still scouring the rest of the hall in case the killer made a mistake.”

Hannibal nods, and he and Alana take the stairs leading to the stage to observe Freddie’s body. Her body is hung low enough on the stage for examination; the killer had used the theater’s rigging system to bind her. Looking closely, there are rope burns around the skin where she was tied with the ropes suspending her body in place. It was an impressive sort of work, and Hannibal begrudgingly admits that the intricate knotting was skillful in its execution. Someone who knows his way around ropes and has the know-how to knot them effectively, then.

Something niggles at the back of his mind, though he’s wrenched away from his thoughts at the sound of Jack’s voice.

“You two got anything for us?” Jack’s voice carries from where he’s standing below the stage. 

Alana sighs, looking troubled. “Looks like she was strangled. The marks are covered by the ropes but you can see the hint of bruising around her throat. Not sure if we’ll get any fingerprints from that, but I’m guessing no since you didn’t find any prints nearby the crime scene either.”

Jack nods silently, confirming the observation. 

“There are several bruises from where she’d struggled against her captor,” Hannibal notes. “Her fingernails seemed to have been cleaned from any evidence, so most likely we wouldn’t find any DNA if she did manage to claw into the killer’s skin.”

“Worth a shot, though,” Beverly quips from where she’s busy bagging the sealed evidence into her kit. “They all make mistakes eventually.”

“Except for the Chesapeake Ripper, apparently,” Jack grouses. 

Shrugging, Beverly returns to her task. 

“The killer knows his way around the rope and possibly the rigging system at this theater,” Hannibal comments, looking around the stage to locate where the pulley system had been rigged to pose Freddie in such a way. “Were the curtains lowered before you found the body, by any chance?”

Jack frowns. “It was. The janitor raised it earlier this morning when he noticed it was lowered, so we’d left the scene as is. How did you guess?”

Hannibal turns to Jack. “I suspected. I may have figured out the message behind this particular display.”

“What is it?” Jack asks impatiently, arms braced on his waist. 

“It’s a curtain call — the bow after a final show,” Hannibal explains. “From the way her body is displayed, that seems to be the intention, at least.”

Alana seems thoughtful. “We don’t have any idea if any organs are missing just yet, right?”

“Not yet,” Brian says, joining them with his kit bag. “We’d have to wait for the autopsy later to confirm it.”

“Hard to say it’s the Ripper or not, then,” Alana says, mouth pursed. "But I don’t think any of the Ripper’s victims have been strangled before, have they?”

“They have not,” Hannibal confirms. “At least as far as I can recall.”

Jack sighs loudly. “I suppose we’ve gotten what we could out of this scene. Anything else to add before we pack it up for the lab?”

Hannibal shakes his head, Alana following suit after one final look at Freddie’s body.

“Alright then,” Jack calls out, his voice echoing around the hall. “Pack it up!” 

The autopsy took another three hours of Hannibal’s time, though he enjoyed the hours as they tried to dissect what they could of this latest kill. 

There were no surgical cuts made on Freddie’s body and the organs were deemed to have been left intact as a result. The Chesapeake Ripper was pulled out of the possible suspect of killers, which only left two other alternatives: the String Killer or the Copycat Killer.

“From the way this body was staged, I’m inclined to think that we’re dealing with the Copycat,” Hannibal concludes once every evidence available has been documented at the BAU laboratory. “There was no use of the strings which our String Killer seemed to favor, and the way this display was presented made me think that the Copycat is imitating the Ripper’s latest tableau.”

Jack sighs, running a hand over his face. “So these killers are just gonna lead us on a damned goose chase while they play a tag game?” 

Hannibal considers that with a tilt of his head. “No. I do think this was meant to be a finale — at least for this killer — because of the message. ‘This curtain call signifies my final show.’ Ties in nicely with the message that this is the end of Freddie’s career.” 

“‘Nicely’ is not the word I’d use,” Brian mumbles from where he’s perched on the desk.

“Let’s hope this is the final show because I don’t think we can keep up if more killers start showing up at the opera house,” Jimmy says, looking exhausted as he slumps into a chair. “I think the owner might be considering burning down the whole damn place.”

“Well, we’re still no closer to catching these killers, so let’s hope that doesn’t happen just yet,” Jack retorts with a glare. “We need everything you guys have on them. With our luck, the String Killer might just make a reappearance just to send a reply.”

Hannibal hides his amusement at the idea of the chaos that would ensue if that were to happen. He’s slightly disappointed at the implication that this would be the last he heard from the Copycat Killer if his interpretation is true. He’d been looking forward to the killer’s displays. They show some modicum of understanding of what the Chesapeake Ripper tries to achieve through his tableaux. 

It would be a fun experiment for the killers to continue their little game until someone concedes or gets caught. It’s now riskier than ever with the FBI paying close attention to their next move, however. Perhaps the Copycat Killer didn’t think it worthwhile to continue.

A shame. For most serial killers, the risk would have been part of the appeal. Hannibal should know. Not for the first time, he wonders just what sort of person the Copycat Killer is.

Hannibal ponders over that as he makes his way home. Jack had dropped him off at his office for him to pick up his car, and his mind has been occupied with the thoughts of the two fledgling killers since. 

While the String Killer had seemed promising initially, he was reckless and sloppy with his murder and presentation. The Copycat Killer had sidestepped these issues and had presented a compelling display of his own. 

The copycat seems to have a whimsical streak of his own. He’s meticulous enough to ensure that the crime scene would be left with no usable evidence. In addition to that, he seems particularly skilled with the ropes; the intricate knot around Lounds’ body was a testament to that. Someone who’s used to working with them to ensnare their victims, perhaps. 

Something clicks into place when he recalls the lures on the study desk and the seemingly unconnected books in the nondescript bookshelves in Wolf Trap. 

He knows he’s at the precipice of a discovery then.

Once he arrives at his residence, he sheds his coat and makes his way to the study. He needs to see the _TattleCrime_ article in detail. There might be clues that the BAU might have missed, and it would confirm his suspicion as to the killer’s identity. 

The thought subsumes him as he enters the study with his tablet and pauses at the threshold when he’s arrested by an unexpected sight.

His breath catches in his throat, and he tries to silence his presence, but too late.

Will Graham turns his head, looking as if he has been expecting Hannibal. He seems to have made himself at home. With his legs crossed and an empty wine glass held in the palm of his hand, Will looks the very picture of relaxation, as if him lounging around uninvited in Hannibal’s home is a given at any time.

They regard each other in silence before Will gives him a bright smile.

“Was wondering how much longer Jack would keep you there,” Will drawls, leaning back in his seat and gesturing to the seat next to him. “Care for a drink?”

There’s a bottle of wine on the table between the seats. Hannibal recognizes the drink immediately. It’s an excellent red wine from the 1800s which he had bought almost a decade ago, and he’s grateful that Will had at least decanted it before partaking in the drink. 

Hannibal doesn’t move as he assesses Will’s nonchalant demeanor, looking around the study surreptitiously to find any potential weapon in the room. There’s a scalpel in the pocket of his jacket which can be used, if needed. “Have I missed a celebration?”

Will smirks. “Of some sort. Don’t be such a worrywart,” he says, rolling his eyes at Hannibal’s hesitation. “I didn’t poison the wine, and I don’t have any weapon on me. Well, except for my hands I suppose, if you count them as one.”

Hannibal blinks. His usually quiet mindscape is buzzing with several trains of thoughts, and try as he might, he finds it hard to focus. 

Letting out a loud sigh, Will rises from his seat and rises to look at Hannibal, the crackling fireplace behind him illuminating his annoyed countenance. 

“So what did you think of Lounds’ last performance?”

Hannibal’s focus hones in on Will, the buzzing in his head clearing at the mention of Freddie Lounds. “I take it you’ve seen _TattleCrime._ ”

Will snorts, shaking his head and placing the glass of wine in his hand on the table. “I read it while Lounds was composing her final swan song.”

“You were with her for her final moments.”

“Got it in one,” Will confirms. “Are the puzzle pieces slotting themselves into place now, Hannibal?”

The sound of his name has never sounded so familiar and precious, and yet the context of it now sends shivers down to Hannibal’s spine. “You’re the Copycat Killer.”

He had only begun to suspect it from the clues from Freddie’s tableau. To have it confirmed in such a manner is quite another thing. He recalls how Will had visited him today in his office before Jack had barged in on them. Was that another part of Will’s intended plan? To see his reaction before and after? 

Will gives him a wry smile. He doesn’t look surprised at Hannibal’s deduction. “Congratulations, you’ve found me. Will you be turning me in to Jack?”

Hannibal tilts his head, eyes fixed on Will. “Are you anticipating that I wouldn’t? I admit I find your cavalier attitude a bit perplexing.”

“Cut the crap, Hannibal.” Will laughs at Hannibal’s surprised look. “We both know you won’t do that. I do know you’re probably contemplating the various ways you can kill me and make me into a Chesapeake Ripper display right now. If so, don’t bother. I’ve planted something that would implicate you as the Ripper should I go missing in the next few days.”

For the first time in his life, Hannibal finds himself stunned into silence.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Will huffs, brows raised as he walks closer to Hannibal. “Do you want to know how I figured out you’re the Ripper?”

He can’t tear his eyes away. The flickering fire in the background sends the shadows dancing across Will’s silhouette, his mesmerizing features hardening with every step. 

“I found the hidden floor trap in your wine pantry,” Will murmurs, eyes flashing dangerously. “Found it while you were busy killing those two pigs after you drugged me. Which, by the way, if you do that again, I’m kicking your ass to Timbuktu. Consider that a fair warning.”

Hannibal finally finds it in him to respond to the revelation that Will had seen his basement. “Have you always known, then? Or suspected before this?”

“Oh, I knew you were some sort of killer. I seem to have a knack for them,” Will replies, mouth twisting in a self-deprecating smirk. “But I didn’t think you’d turn out to be the fucking _Chesapeake Ripper._ I suppose I should thank you for drugging me, otherwise I wouldn’t have put two and two together so soon after you dropped your latest displays.” 

Hannibal knew that he was courting danger when he decided on his recent tableaux, almost foolishly so, but his need to be seen had prevailed over his sense of preservation. He had no idea, then, that this would be the repercussion of his actions. Though he had sensed that there’s an underlying darkness in Will — the suspicion further highlighted by the reveal of Gideon’s circumstantial death and Will’s possible involvement in it — he did not expect that his lover and the killer he had taunted are one and the same.

“What will you do with this knowledge, I wonder,” Hannibal murmurs at length. 

Will raises an eyebrow. “Depends. Are you still planning on killing me right now?”

“I find myself compromised,” Hannibal admits. “Though that would be the smartest choice, it’s not the one I prefer.”

“Then I suppose we’re at an impasse,” Will replies. “I’ve shown you my hand on this cat-and-mouse game you’re playing. It’s your move now.”

Hannibal frowns in disappointment. “So you intend to… retire?”

Will snorts. “That’s a good way of putting it. I never intended to join in in your cock-measuring contest. _You’re_ the one who’s fond of all these displays. Tobias’s display just… sort of happened. And of course you _had_ to have your say.”

“I’m curious as to how your display of Tobias Budge just happened.”

Will shrugs. “It’s a long story. And not one I’m willing to tell while you’re still figuring out whether to kiss me or kill me. You’re looking like you might just do both right now.”

Hannibal studies his lover's face then. He’s slightly disconcerted to find Will acting so unconcerned when he has practically upturned Hannibal’s world. He had thought that he would be the one to coax Will out of his chrysalis, once, only to discover that the man had been molded into a killer long before Hannibal had gotten his hands on him. “Was this… relationship a farce, then?”

Will’s face falls slightly, though his jaw sets in annoyance in the next second. 

“I never intended to take it this far,” he admits at length. “I approached you because you seemed so insistent after Tobias died. Then I found out you were a profiler for the BAU. I thought it would be useful to have some inside intel.” His throat works, then, looking unsure. “I… enjoyed your company. More than I thought I would. This whole thing went deeper than I ever thought it would.”

“Then we are both in the same boat,” Hannibal murmurs. “You’ve blindsided me in more ways than one and yet I find myself enamored. It’s something I’ve been having difficulty with.”

“I imagine it’s hard to suddenly develop compassion for someone when you’ve always thought of people as pigs,” Will says warily. 

“Will,” Hannibal sighs, though his lips curl into an involuntary smile. “Shall we have dinner while we discuss this?”

“Like civilized people?” Will shrugs. “Sure. If you promise to serve me fish and that you won’t stab me the next chance you get.”

“I take it you’ve figured out what the meat was.”

“After what I’ve seen in your basement? I think I deserve to stab you with a fork for that. But. Compromises.”

“Quid pro quo?”

“Just so.” Will smiles. “After you, doctor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we have ~the reveal~. Probably not as dramatic to us as it was to Hannibal XD
> 
> I wish everyone an awesome 2021! Too early to tell what the upcoming year will bring but *crosses fingers*


	10. interlude part I: the descent

Will sat in his chair silently, eyes downcast as Mrs. Peterson talked on the phone. Her voice was soft and wary as she spoke to the person on the other end of the line about Will’s arrangement. Her eyes shifted from Will to the phone on her desk whenever she saw Will glancing at her.

It was awkward, waiting around like this. It was even more awkward than that time he was sent to the counselor’s office and the counselor asked him how his dad was doing and how things were at home. 

Will had felt tongue-tied then. He knew exactly why the counselor was asking him those questions. He knew the counselor would frown if she found out how dad was almost always drunk when he came back home late at night, even though his work shift had ended hours earlier. He knew what would happen if he were to tell her that dad was only sober thirty percent of the time (if even that). 

So he had kept his mouth shut and hoped for the best.

Unfortunately, luck had run out on them. A social worker had come by a few days later; apparently, a “concerned party” had called in to notify them of their situation. He took one look at the sight of Beau Graham passed out on the couch with a bottle in his hand when Will had answered the door, and Will knew that was it for the two of them.

Will was taken away within a week, and he was told that he would only be returned to his dad if the man could get his act together. 

And so here he was, sitting in front of Mrs. Peterson, waiting for the verdict that would decide what the rest of his life would be like.

When Mrs. Peterson hung up, she leaned forward with a kind smile. “Alright, Will, your social worker will be coming soon. You’ve met him before, but I suppose you weren’t acquainted yet at the time.”

Will appreciated that she didn’t speak to him as if he was a child (which he technically was, but that was beside the point). He nodded before he returned his gaze to his shoes. “Where am I going?” 

“You’ll be going to St. Giles Foster Home. It’s not far from where your house is,” Mrs. Peterson replied. “Which is fortunate, because it’d be easier for your father to come and visit you for your check-ins. All the information you need will be in this file I have for you.”

“Okay,” Will mumbled. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Peterson looked sad for a moment before she rallied with another smile. “You can always call me if you need someone to talk to, all right? I’ll give you my number, just in case.”

Armed with a file and a phone number, Will was led to another room where Mrs. Peterson introduced him to the social worker in charge of him. Will only paid half a mind to the conversation while Mrs. Peterson talked to the man who stood rigid and poised before them. 

“—and this is Clark Ingram, Will, he’ll be in charge of your case and will facilitate your check-ins and reunification with your father soon enough.” She ended the sentence with another smile, looking at him expectantly.

Will nodded at the man, unsure of what to do in this kind of situation. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Ingram.”

“Likewise,” Ingram replied, smiling and tilting his head in acknowledgment. “Shall we?”

As Will was led away by the man, he was struck with the thought that Clark Ingram’s smile never really reached his empty eyes. 

His dad wasn’t always drunk. He managed to sober up somewhat when they’d moved permanently to Wolf Trap where dad had found a mechanic who had taken him on full-time. Dad had bought a plot of land for them to settle down at, and he and his friends had built their house from the ground-up. Will had watched in excitement at the thought that they wouldn’t have to live in another trailer. At sixteen-years-old, he would finally know what it would feel like to settle down in one place instead of being moved around from one town to another. 

Things were going smoothly for six months before an unexpected incident at work had some unintended consequences for his dad and he was let go. Dad had tried to find another permanent job soon after, but he had to settle for freelancing for a few more months when it became apparent that that wasn’t going to happen.

That was when dad had started drinking. The bottle rarely left his hand since.

Now, as he was led into Mr. Ingram’s office for the first “family visit” session with each other, Will hoped against hope that dad was sober for this. It had been a month since he’d last seen him, and he’d missed him terribly.

When his dad stepped inside the room, he looked pale and withdrawn, but otherwise lucid enough for conversation. They smiled at each other before Will got up from his seat and hugged him, their embrace lasting for several seconds before Ingram cleared his throat.

Ingram’s plastered-on smile always looked fake to him. Will found himself being viscerally disturbed by it every time Ingram came by to talk to him. 

“Shall we begin?” Ingram said, gesturing to the seats in front of his desk.

Dad nodded stiffly, both of them pulling away to take their seats.

“Now,” Ingram said, leaning his elbows on his desk. “We’re here for our first check-in session. It’s been a month since Will was placed in foster care. Why don’t we start the conversation from there?”

Will almost rolled his eyes at the unctuous suggestion, though he ignored it in favor of looking at his dad’s careworn face. He looked much better than he had been, though he suspected his dad’s ashen complexion and the fine trembling in his hands were probably due to withdrawal symptoms. 

“Hi, Dad,” Will said softly. “You doing okay?”

Dad snorted at that, his watery smile looking pained. “You doing the adult thing for me, son?” 

_Somebody has to._ The thought came unbidden, and Will dismissed it immediately. He only shrugged in reply, feeling awkward.

“Been doing great,” his dad rasped, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, haven’t touched a bottle for two weeks now after I checked in for rehab. Went to a counseling session last week.” 

The last was said with a grimace which Will couldn’t help but smile at. Dad had always hated “counseling” or anything remotely related to it. He and Will had that in common. The fact that he went to them anyway meant that he was trying, for Will. 

“That’s great, dad,” he said, meaning it.

“Yeah, well,” his dad replied gruffly. “’M doing better. Got a boat job that would take me a month or so to finish, so that’s something to look forward to.”

They fell into familiar conversations, exchanging their stories of what they had been up to in each other’s absence. By the end of the session, dad looked like himself again. Will had missed the man he had been so long ago. Speaking to him today had given Will hope again despite the bleakness of the situation. Maybe this time around, with adequate supervision, his dad could get his act together. 

He gave dad a tight hug when he had to leave, and they made a promise to see each other again in a few weeks.

Ingram drove Will back to the foster home after that. The man always insisted on ferrying Will around personally, and it wasn’t like Will had any other choice. He supposed it was in the job description, but it was always disconcerting whenever Ingram insisted on encroaching into his time. 

There was just something about Ingram that rubbed Will the wrong way. Though he tried to sound conciliatory in his conversation, he just came off as someone pretending to care about him. To a less discerning person, Ingram’s mask looked solid enough to pass for a functional human. But to someone like Will, who was born with keen insight into people’s minds, Ingram just felt… off. 

There was something beneath that placid mask that he couldn’t quite burrow into just yet; he was almost too scared to uncover what lay beneath it.

“So how did it feel?” Ingram asked after minutes of silence when it became clear Will wasn’t inclined to talk.

“How did what feel?” Will mumbled, gaze trained outside. 

There wasn’t anything particularly interesting to look at. It was a cloudy day, and the cityscape passed by in a blur of grey and other mundane colors. He caught sight of a family of three walking happily side-by-side. The little girl laughed as her parents held on to her hands tightly as she skipped over a small puddle. The sight of the happy-looking family passed by in an instant, but the ache in Will’s heart lingered. 

The envious sight was still a better alternative to looking at Ingram. 

“To see your father again after a month of being separated.” 

Will shrugged listlessly. “It was good. He looked like he’s recovering.”

Ingram made a noncommittal noise as if he disbelieved Will. “Who can say? I’ve been working this circuit for years, and some of these parents always seem to fall back into their old routine eventually.” 

Will frowned and turned to Ingram. “Aren’t you supposed to be working to help them overcome that?”

“Oh, that’s not my part,” Ingram replied, looking like he couldn’t care less. “I’m just telling you my observations. You’re a smart kid; you should know better than to harbor false hopes.”

Will tried to calm his rising anger, tried to unclench his hands which had balled into fists at Ingram’s careless attitude. “Unless your observations are analyzed and proven to be true statistically, you should keep your opinions to yourself.”

Ingram’s eyes flashed as he turned to glance at Will then, and Will got a glimpse of the creature beneath that mask for a split second before the man looked away. 

“That’s fine,” Ingram said after a lengthy silence, his fake smile back on his face. “You’ll find out how the world works sooner or later.”

Will missed his dad. For all that he was hardly home and hardly sober when he _was_ home, he had been all that Will knew for his entire life. Despite his drunkenness, Will remembered times when his dad was a “good” dad, whatever the definition of good was. To Will, he was the man who taught him how to fish, how to dismantle an engine, how to read the trails they sometimes walked through, how to cook when they had limited amounts of ingredients, and ultimately how to survive through the situations they were saddled with. 

Beau Graham was a lot of things, but to Will, he was just “dad”. That was enough for him.

Foster home wasn’t too bad, though it certainly wasn’t what Will preferred. His days were regimented into pockets of time, everything scheduled for him from morning to night time. On one hand, it was nice to have a schedule he could stick to. On the other hand, the monotony of it was beginning to grate at him a few weeks in.

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t have a lot of friends. The other kids were unsettled by him and his “strange” tendencies. It had been that way even at his previous schools. He knew that the foster home wouldn’t be any better. He’d always liked to spend his time alone, anyway. 

All that changed when Ingram dropped another boy at St. Giles Foster Home. 

Peter Bernardone was a shy and flighty-looking boy. He was Will’s senior by a few months, but he didn’t look it from the way he held himself. It didn’t take long for the rumor mills to start and for everyone to start talking about how Peter was “damaged”. The more callous group of kids didn’t hesitate to say that Peter was “not right in the head”, much to Will’s annoyance. His smaller built and timid demeanor made him an immediate target for some of the bullies.

Will put a stop to that by befriending Peter almost immediately.

“Hey,” Will said as he set down his lunch tray on the table, taking a seat opposite Peter.

Startled, Peter looked at him and blinked rapidly before he turned his gaze back to his lunch tray. “H-hi.”

Will smiled and extended a hand out, waiting patiently until Peter finally took it in his and shook it for a few seconds before pulling back, as if scared of being burned by the touch. 

“I’m Will.”

“Peter.”

“Nice to meet you, Peter. What do you like to do in your free time?”

Looking confused, Peter stared at him momentarily. “I l-like to read and play with animals.”

“Oh, that’s cool, I like that too. What kind of animals do you like to play with?” Will said, digging into his lackluster lunch as they began to talk.

Peter’s eyes brightened immediately. He began to describe the pets he’d had before he was taken to St. Giles, and though their sadness over their situation lingered, the pain began to diminish the longer they talked. 

They share a love for dogs, though neither of them had had the opportunity to have one as a pet. It was easy to bond with someone over their similarities (something Will had learned to his advantage years ago), and Will found Peter to be more genuine than most. He didn’t lie or obfuscate, and when Will stared past the depths of Peter’s eyes, he only saw kindness and a wish for solitude and perhaps some solace.

Life at St. Giles became more bearable when you have a friend, as they both soon found out. Though they don’t attend the same school, they spend their free time together more often than not. This puzzled some of the caregivers though they mostly left the boys alone to fend for themselves. Will ignored the whispers and jeers when the two of them became closer. He didn’t care what these kids (or even some of the adults) think any more than he did when he was in school. 

Things at his new school weren't that much better, but it wasn’t that bad either. Will kept his head down at his new school, more so after what had happened at his previous school. 

(He’d gone back to his old school for his records a week ago, and he’d ignored the counselor who had called him into her office so many months ago, resenting the fact that she probably had something to do with the child services arriving at his door.)

In any case, he intended to finish high school at least. Dad had always told him education was important, pushing Will to do better than him so that he wouldn’t fall into the same fate. He hoped that dad would somehow stay on the course so Will could return to him soon.

Trepidation filled Will for the second family visit scheduled a month after the last one. 

He glanced to the clock on the wall several times, feet jiggling on the floor as he and Ingram waited for his dad to arrive. 

“I think he’s just running a bit late,” Will muttered into the silence, avoiding Ingram’s gaze. 

Ingram merely hummed.

“Our car breaks down a lot,” Will resumed, ignoring the twisting feeling in his stomach. “Dad bought it second hand because it was cheaper than a new one since he spent his money on the land and the house.”

Ingram stared at him, that damned placid smile plastered on his face. 

“He’ll be here,” Will said. At this point, it was more to convince himself, and they both knew it.

After the hour was up, Will’s shoulders slumped with the knowledge that his dad had missed their scheduled visit. He tried to blink his tears away, though a few drops escaped anyway. He ducked his head to hide it from Ingram. 

Blinking furiously, he ignored the scraping of the chair as Ingram rose and packed his briefcase with him, signaling their departure back to the foster care.

The ride back to St. Giles was silent, and Will closed his eyes and tried to ignore Ingram’s pitying looks. 

When they arrived at last, Will was quick to open the car door, though he stopped when he heard Ingram calling his name.

“I’m sorry this had to happen,” Ingram said. Will refused to turn and look at that cloying smile. “I told you that things would eventually return to their normal state. You had to have seen this coming, Will.”

He resisted the urge to punch Ingram, but just barely. “Good evening, Mr. Ingram.”

A pause. “Good evening, Will. And please say hi to Peter for me.”

Brows furrowing, Will did turn to Ingram then. “Do you know him?”

“He’s under my care.” Ingram smiled. “Run along now.”

Will didn’t like the sound of that at all. 

Peter was there to greet him at lunch when Will sat down at their usual table. The boy smiled briefly before he made a face at their lunch. 

Will smiled at that, and they ate their meal in silence while Will tried to process the myriad of emotions he’d felt since this morning. 

In addition to the disappointment at not seeing his dad today, there was also a growing dread at the thought of Ingram being Peter’s social worker, though he couldn’t quite parse his feelings. Sure, Ingram may not look like the most compassionate man Will had met — lack of empathy in a social worker is clearly a red flag, but who was Will to have any say in this? — but there was just something about him that raised the alarm bells in Will’s head.

Trying to shake off the malaise setting in, Will began to talk to Peter, asking him about his day while he tried to convince himself that he was imagining things.

The months passed by in a blur of rote activities. A bleak sense of doom began setting in inside him. Will was finding it hard to find the small happiness in life, with the stress of school intruding into the strained emotions from being increasingly alienated from his dad. 

Dad did eventually come to visit him in the intervening months. He looked better at times, though at other times it looked as if he fell off the wagon more and more as the season changed. Will had been the one to look after his dad while he was still living at Wolf Trap, but now with no one to push and prod at him, his dad looked increasingly haggard when he did manage to make it to their appointments.

Out of the nine monthly appointments scheduled for them, dad had only come for four of them.

The whole situation was taking its toll on Will, though he was determined not to show it to Ingram or his dad. During his appointments, he would try to remain optimistic and lighthearted when he and dad talked about the things they’d been doing to catch up with each other’s increasingly estranged lives. Though dad looked sad most of the time, he seemed to appreciate the time they spend together at least, their parting marked by their desperate embrace before they had to pull apart again. Will refused to cry, refused to let Ingram see his increasing despair.

Will didn’t have the energy to shed tears over his situation anymore, anyway. He was becoming obsessed with graduating, aiming for a scholarship where he wouldn’t need to worry about the money to fund college. There was no way he was going to leave everything up to Ingram or even his school counselor. If there was one thing he’d learned out of this whole thing, it was that he had no one else to rely on except for himself.

Throughout everything, his friendship with Peter was an effective buoy in the middle of the deep sea he’d been thrown into. When they were allowed to go outside for their “leisure time”, they would go on walks around the neighborhood just to stretch their legs and breathe in the fresh air outside. Sometimes they would just hang around the public library until curfew, with Will doing homework while Peter read idly. 

Will had once tried to negotiate with St. Giles for them to allow the two of them to volunteer at the local animal shelter, although the supervisors at St. Giles had only looked at him pityingly before suggesting that they focus on their studies instead. Since the shelter had required a permission slip from their foster care, the whole thing never materialized in the end. Which truly proved Will’s opinion that you can never rely on adults to give you what you want if anyone cared to hear it.

As it was, it was a miracle that he and Peter had managed to stay together at St. Giles for so long. Some of the foster kids get relocated to other foster homes or foster parents, while some of the luckier ones got adopted. Truthfully Will was grateful that they didn’t have to get relocated. It was trying enough that he had to change school again, he didn’t think he could readjust to life with another home. (Deep down, he was still harboring hopes that he would be able to reunite with dad again before long.)

He and Peter grew closer, bonding over their dislike of Ingram though Peter was much too nice to say anything too blatantly bad about their social worker. 

“Do you think he practices his smile in the mirror every morning?” Will asked one night, his voice hushed. Most of the kids were already asleep.

There was a soft huff of laughter from Peter. “Looked like he d-don’t need no practice.”

“You’re probably right.”

A noncommittal hum from Peter before they fell silent.

“His eyes are really weird, too. They’re like… dead.”

“Like a d-dead fish’s eyes?”

“Just like that, yeah. He always looks… half-dead.”

“Maybe he p-practiced that.”

“What, looking dead?” Will snorted. “Guess I wouldn’t put it past him… wonder what else he practiced in his spare time.”

There was a long silence at that. Will, worried, turned to stare at the other boy, wondering what got to him.

Peter looked as if he was staring at nothing, though there was a fine tremor going through his body, something Will only noticed because he was paying close attention.

“Peter, you okay?”

Peter took a deep breath for several seconds — something Will had taught him to do when he got too overwhelmed — before he nodded jerkily, though he avoided Will’s concerned gaze. Will stared at him for a moment longer, making sure that his friend was feeling better before he stared at the ceiling again.

“I’m sorry if I misspoke,” Will said softly.

“It wasn’t you,” Peter said reluctantly, his voice quivering.

“Okay. You wanna talk about it?”

Another long silence before Peter spoke. “I think Clark is d-dangerous.”

Will turned to lie on his side then, gaze intent on Peter. “Why do you say that?” 

“He told me things sometimes,” Peter whispered. “Bad things happening to… people.”

Will paused and turned the thoughts in his head for a while. “What kind of bad things?”

“Bad like…” Peter’s words trailed off, chin quivering while he tried to gather himself. “He said if I don’t behave, one of t-these days I could get hurt because of what I did. He t-told me what happened to his p-previous foster kids.”

Will frowned. “What happened to them?”

But it seemed that Peter had become too nervous to confide further, his face twisted in a grimace as he tried to shake the thoughts out of his head. “I’m sorry, Will, I’m t-tired. I want to sleep now.”

Will kept his gaze on Peter for a long time, even after the boy turned his body away from him. 

Though he had an overall bad impression of Ingram and awful interactions with the man, he didn’t think that he was the kind of man who would hurt someone. But then why else would Ingram say such things to Peter? Did he say it to Peter because he knew that no one would believe Peter even if he confided it to anyone else? Did he think that Peter was too “damaged” to understand what he was saying?

Sighing, Will closed his eyes and forced himself to sleep. No use wasting his waking hours on someone like Ingram, at least not until he can find something to back his budding suspicion.

Tomorrow, he will try to get to the bottom of this.

His plan to follow his thread of suspicion regarding Ingram fell through in the end, because the universe had decided that he was due for another breakdown.

Will was called to the principal’s office while he was in trigonometry class the next day, much to his surprise. The principal’s voice rang out through the PA system, which only encouraged the other students to stare at Will while he marched out of his office, face burning from the unwanted attention. 

He was still fighting back the embarrassment that he didn’t even feel nervous when he was ushered into the office, a solicitous-looking man (presumably the principal) asking him to take a seat when Will entered the room. Before he could do so, Will was arrested by the sight of Ingram sitting in one of the chairs at the principal’s desk, legs crossed and hands folded in his lap, smiling his empty smile when he saw Will watching.

He was too stunned at Ingram’s presence in the office to move for a few seconds, though he did eventually take the other empty seat, avoiding Ingram’s pointed gaze as he did so. 

Did Ingram somehow found out about his conversation with Peter last night? But why would he come to Will’s school and go to his principal for such a small thing? Was he in some kind of—

“You’re not in trouble, Mr. Graham,” the principal — Robert M. Tyson, the plaque in front of Will read — said gently, looking as if he knew just what was going inside Will’s mind. 

Will bit his lip. Probably every kid sent to the principal’s office had that kind of thought one way or another. If he wasn’t in trouble, he’s either being called for his academic performance (doubtful, because it wouldn’t explain Ingram’s presence), or something else entirely.

“I’ll let Mr. Ingram tell you why you’re here,” Mr. Tyson said, gesturing for the other man to speak.

Ingram cleared his throat, and Will turned to stare at his chin. “I’m afraid I’ve received some bad news, Will.”

His stomach plummeted and his throat closed up as his mind worked into overdrive to parse the meaning behind those words. Before he could give voice to his thoughts, Ingram spoke again, his face a facsimile of a solemn expression, though it looked odd on him, like a badly painted mask.

“Your father has met with an accident.”

It felt like the blood in his veins turned into ice, and he struggled to speak. “Is dad okay?”

The two men exchanged glances, and Ingram’s plastered-on sympathetic look made Will want to scream.

“I’m sorry to tell you that he died at the hospital last night, Will.”

Will was silent for several seconds, trying to process the knowledge that his dad was gone. Gone, just like that. 

“What happened?” Will whispered.

“He took quite a fall at the boatyard he was working at,” Ingram said. “Hit his head at one of the pier edges. His… colleagues took him to the hospital, but by then it was too late. He was probably drunk at the time, and his alcohol level didn’t help matters afterward.”

Mr. Tyson cleared his throat. “Perhaps those details are unnecessary, Mr. Ingram.”

“Ah, I’m sorry,” Ingram said, though Will knew, he just _knew,_ from Ingram’s tone that he was anything but. “Never really did have a hand for this kind of news.”

Mr. Tyson sighed, his face looking grave. “My condolences, Will. I’m very sorry to hear about what had happened. If you need to talk to someone, our counselors are always available. For today, I believe Mr. Ingram is here to take you back to your foster care.”

Will’s head snapped to Mr. Tyson then. “What? No. I want to see my dad.”

Mr. Tyson glanced to Ingram, looking conflicted. “I was told—” 

“We’ll talk about it on the way, Will,” Ingram said, his tone brooking no argument as he rose out of his seat, much to Mr. Tyson’s surprise. “It was nice to meet you, sir, though the circumstances weren’t ideal.”

With that, Ingram threw another smile at Mr. Tyson before he ushered Will out of the office. Will was too stunned with shock and grief to truly put up a fight at the moment. He didn’t even know where his dad was, where his dad die— 

No, he didn’t want to think about that just yet. He needed to see dad.

Once he was in Ingram’s car, he turned to glare at him. “I want to see him.”

Ingram was putting on his seatbelt, looking as if he hadn’t a care in the world for what Will wanted. “That’s not in my job scope, I’m afraid. I’m taking you back to St. Giles — you can do what you want after that. After all, you were so keen on being independent, weren’t you?”

Will’s mouth fell open with shock and he glared at the man for a few seconds, but he knew that he had no choice in the end. Fuming, he settled in his seat mutinously as Ingram drove him back to the foster home. Will was too irate to care about the frigid silence between them. Even his devastation at knowing his dad had passed away was overtaken by his sudden hatred of Ingram, and he didn’t know where to channel the anger coursing through him. 

“I really am sorry, Will.” Ingram turned to give him an insincere smile.

Will’s scowl grew heavier, and he kept his gaze ahead, ignoring Ingram.

Ingram didn’t seem to like that. “I’m sorry that the only parent you have left has left you. But he already left you long ago, didn’t he?” 

The soft voice belied Ingram’s true thoughts on the matter, and Will resisted the urge to punch the man.

“You’re going to be eighteen soon, so I doubt you’d be adopted by anyone,” Ingram continued, his tone pleasant. “Even the kindest foster parents would be wary of taking in unstable young men these days—”

“I’m not unstable,” Will grounded out. 

“You might as well be,” Ingram retorted. “I’ve been your social worker for all these years, Will, I know what you’re like. I can see why your dad can’t handle a kid like you—”

“Stop the car.”

“Now, is that really—”

“Stop the car!” 

Ingram did so forcefully, swerving the car into a sudden stop at the road shoulder. There were sounds of other cars honking as they passed by, the drivers shouting or glaring at them before they drove away. 

All Will could focus on was his boiling rage. If he didn’t get out of the car now, he knew that there would be consequences for the actions he was thinking of enacting on Ingram. 

“Stop talking about my father as if you knew him,” Will bit out as he unbuckled his seatbelt. His fingers trembled with rage, and it was all he could do not to loop the seatbelt around Ingram’s neck.

Ingram hummed, dead eyes trained on Will. “You’re ungrateful as well. Is this all the thanks I get for all that I’ve done for you?”

“You’ve done nothing,” Will growled. “All you do is undermine me and my dad, telling me how worthless we are. _You’re_ the one thinking you’re some kind of savior with your ‘social worker’ schtick.”

Opening the door to the car, Will hastily grabbed his backpack and made his way out of the car, ignoring Ingram’s steely gaze as he put some distance between them. Will walked blindly, his mind focused on escaping the man who had tormented him for the last few years. His eyes stung with unshed tears when he finally broke into a run.

He ran until he found himself lost, and only then did he stop to take stock of his situation.

Taking a few deep breaths, Will looked around wonderingly. This was a part of a neighborhood he wasn’t particularly familiar with, though he thought he recognized the street signs. The names were familiar at least. He might have passed by this way whenever the bus route took him back to St. Giles. Or at least he hoped so.

After another deep breath, he tried to recalibrate his thoughts, trying to remember the orientation of the street before he determined a direction to head towards. 

He kept his gaze on his surroundings, nervously looking around for more familiar signs on the storefronts. There were times when he thought he recognized the name of the street, though it could’ve also been his mind playing tricks on him in his desperation to get somewhere.

He must’ve walked for hours, or at least it felt like it. His feet were sore, the tight shoes adding to his aggravation as he wandered on. He eventually found himself in a neighborhood he recognized after a while, heart hammering when he saw a familiar landmark. 

Sighing with relief, he trudged on, the knowledge that St. Giles was only a few miles away keeping him on his feet. He was only aware of how tired he was when his feet almost buckled beneath him once he arrived at the doorstep of St. Giles, well before everyone else had come back from school since he was let out early.

One of the custodians looked surprised at his arrival. Will must have looked like quite a sight after the long walk he’d had, his chest heaving with indignation. Now that he’d found his way back, he focused his rage on something actionable. 

Ignoring the looks, Will marched to the St. Giles director’s office, his heart hammering loudly against his ribcage as he knocked on the heavy wooden door. He didn’t wait for an answer before he burst into the office, face red with exertion and rage.

“Mrs. Wharton, I need to talk to you—” 

“Will.”

The admonishment from _that damned voice_ stopped Will in his tracks, and his eyes narrowed as he turned to see that Ingram was already in the office. From the way he was seated comfortably in the chair opposite Mrs. Wharton’s, it seemed as if he’d been talking to her for minutes, maybe even hours, probably waiting for Will to do exactly what he did.

His dread grew at the dawning realization that Clark Ingram knew _exactly_ what he was doing to his foster kids. 

“Will, are you alright?” 

Mrs. Wharton’s soft voice broke into his shocked stupor. Will blinked rapidly as he focused on her. She was a matronly woman, someone who was well-suited to her position, though her greying hair and the wrinkles on her forehead were evidence of the toll this job was taking on her. Her deep-set eyes looked concerned at his state, though Will wondered if she was concerned for him or because of him.

Will nodded jerkily, the wind knocked out of his sail. With Ingram in the room, he got distracted from the true reason why he came here.

“I want to see my dad,” Will said defiantly, chin sticking up to stare directly at Mrs. Wharton, holding the eye contact for as long as he could. On this, he refused to back down. 

Mrs. Wharton sighed, looking grieved. “Will, I’m afraid Mr. Ingram has advised against this because of the distraught you’ve shown over the news—” 

“To hell with what Ingram said!” Will shouted, the boiling rage inside him finally spilling over at the lies this man had been spreading around about him. “What the hell does he know! He’s my dad, I have the right to see him — just because you’ve taken me away from him, you can’t keep me away from seeing him _when he’s dead!_ ” 

Mrs. Wharton’s mouth fell open at Will’s outburst, while Ingram only looked smug.

Even with the knowledge that he’d fucked this interaction up somehow, Will had never wanted to punch another person in his life as much as he wanted to punch Ingram in that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, we’re getting into the reverse gear for the next few chapters. Hope yall enjoy the ride!


	11. interlude part II: retribution

Will had gotten an earful from Mrs. Wharton for his behavior in her office later that day, resulting in a punishment that essentially meant he was grounded. 

He wasn’t allowed any more outings outside of his commute to and from school, and he would have to help some of the custodians with some menial tasks around St. Giles. As punishments went, it wasn’t that bad. He had expected worse. He had never experienced being grounded before, however, and it put him in a mutinous mood, especially considering the reason he was being punished. 

Mrs. Wharton also made it mandatory for him to go to the assigned psychologist for a weekly session until the psychologist deemed him less of a “risk”, whatever the hell that meant. That one was much harder to deal with. Being forced to talk to Dr. Martins was a much more effective punishment for someone like Will. 

Still, for all of her stern act and punishment, Mrs. Wharton was the one who drove him over to the hospital afterward. They didn’t talk during the journey, Mrs. Wharton taking Will’s sullen silence as a cue to remain quiet. 

Now that the adrenaline and anger had dissipated from him, Will was plagued with grief at the thought that this was somehow _real,_ that he would finally see for himself that his dad was really gone. 

Will hadn’t seen him in more than three months now. The last time they met for their visit, his dad had boasted that he got an important job from one of the boat owners at one of those “fancy piers” his father had been hounding. Will had smiled and congratulated his dad then, hoping that this one would work out somehow, even if the previous jobs had fallen through or proved to be too good to be true. 

The drive felt interminably long. As soon as they arrived at the hospital, Mrs. Wharton led the way, speaking with the nurses on Will’s behalf. Will merely listened and followed her, his gaze fixed on her back. There was something surreal about the walk to the morgue. Around them, people rushed by with no care of what was happening to him (and really, why should they? They had their own worries). Now that he was here, anxiety and indecision flooded him. Did he really want to do this? 

But he must, he had to. He couldn’t let his dad down by refusing to see him in his final moment. 

Numbness was creeping into him as they approached the morgue, the dawning realization that “this is real, this is happening” making his eyes water again. 

It was strange to look at his dad’s calm face after almost a year of not seeing him. 

Had dad ever looked like this when he was alive? His brows weren’t furrowed with concern, and he looked as if he was merely asleep. Somehow, Will only remembered him with constant worry on his face even though he tried to put on a brave front for Will’s sake. It was just his luck that Will was born with some kind of freak empathy abilities. 

The tears that were threatening to spill finally brimmed over, and he couldn’t restrain himself anymore. 

Leaning his face into the crook of his father’s neck, Will let the sobbing wail that had been perched under his chin for so long, feeling lost and broken at the thought that he was truly, utterly alone in this world.

The next few days passed by in a blur of activities that Will could hardly make sense of. 

He was grateful that Mrs. Wharton had taken over most of the matters to help him process all the legal documents which needed processing. There were too many things to take care of, like should his father be buried or cremated, who would be doing the arrangements, who would be paying for the whole thing, what will happen to all of his dad’s debts and things, et cetera et cetera et cetera.

It helped that Beau Graham had drawn up a will that stated in clear terms that Will would inherit everything he owned, including the plot of land in Wolf Trap and the house that stood on it. His dad had some money saved up, though the amount won’t be substantial (in fact, Will was surprised that he had any saved up at all). There wasn’t much left after the bank had called for some of dad’s belongings to be forfeited, but at least there was some money to his name when Will came of age.

For now, though, he had no money whatsoever, and the questions of how his dad’s body was to be handled remained.

Will swallowed his pride then. With his head lowered, he practically begged for Mrs. Wharton to help him to pay for dad’s cremation. A cremation was more affordable compared to a burial, though it would still cost him. The allowances he’d saved up over the years would cover some of the cost, but he still needed Mrs. Wharton’s help with the rest of the legal fees.

Mrs. Wharton’s eyes were sad, looking conflicted at Will’s plea.

“Please,” Will whispered, face reddening with shame. “Please, I need… this is the only thing I can have right now. I’ll pay you back when I can finally work, I’ll do extra chores or errands for the custodians if they need me to. I’ll do anything.”

“Oh, Will,” she said, eyes softening. “I’ll see what I can do for you, okay? I’ll ask around, see if we can set up a fund to help you. Would that be alright?”

Will nodded, too grateful for words, tears spilling unbidden at the kindness he’d thought he would never receive.

When Will received the small urn that contained his father’s ashes later, he kept it close with him, a reminder of what he had lost. 

Time passed by, slow as molasses.

He went through his daily routine as if nothing had happened, even though everything had changed. 

A few of the caregivers had tried to reach out, but Will brushed them off. He glared at Dr. Martins whenever he had to meet with the man, and he stayed silent. Eventually, even the psychologist gave up on him.

Peter had approached him when he first heard the news of his dad’s death, but it only took one conversation for Peter to remain silent afterward. Will had stared at him with a watery smile and told the other boy that he was okay, and that was that. Neither of them were great conversationalists, and Peter had merely looked on in pain, though he knew better than to push.

Will isolated himself from everyone else. He didn’t want their pitying looks or their condolences. He had accepted Mrs. Wharton’s help because he needed it, but beyond that, he didn’t want anyone else’s charity.

Even though his dad hadn’t been around or nearby in the last few years, it was the thought that he was still out there trying his best to survive that had kept him going in his drive to survive beyond the system that had been trying to crush him.

Now, though, it felt as if nothing else he did mattered.

What was the point? What else was there waiting for him out in the world?

He didn’t have anyone left. There was no reason for him to stick around or even pay attention to his classes anymore. Why should he?

What was the point?

Since his visits with his dad had come to an end, he thought he would be rid of Ingram at last.

But no. The man continued to pester him, coming over on the pretense of giving an update on his efforts to find him a foster parent. Will sat across the man in one of the visiting rooms at St. Giles a few days later, staring at nothing as Ingram talked and talked.

“We both know it would never happen, don’t we?” Ingram said, dead eyes somehow shining with glee at Will’s unseeing stare.

He didn’t care anymore. Let Ingram say whatever. It didn’t matter.

“A boy like you, from such a damaged family,” Ingram continued, “is so very hard to sell to potential foster parents. But I persevered, because you know why, Will?”

Will didn’t answer.

“It’s because I care about you, Will. I’m the only one who cares. There’s no one else left for you. You should be thankful for my effort.”

Will stayed silent.

“Boys like you, you think you’re the only person who’s been through what you have. It must have been a shock to find out that there are so many children like you who are in the same boat, to find out that you’re not so unique after all. For you to have your delusions of reunification with your father shattered so…”

Still, Will refused to rise to the bait.

“A shame. In a few more months, you’ll be eighteen, but you’ll find that the world outside is just as cruel as the world you’ve found yourselves in. Take Peter for instance, what kind of chances does someone like him have to survive in the real world, hmm?” 

Will’s head snapped up at that, struck by a thought. 

“Do you always talk like this when you’re with him?” he whispered. 

He knew how insidious Ingram’s words could be, but he had always been resilient than most when it came to ignoring Ingram. But would someone like Peter have been able to withstand such abuse, after listening to Ingram for years?

When was the last time Will had spoken to Peter? 

Ingram’s eyes were steely, hands folded on the desk as he stared at Will. “We’re here to talk about you, Will.”

Mirroring Ingram’s pose, Will leaned to put his elbows on the desk, his hands folded over one another. He returned Ingram’s stare with equal animosity.

“What kind of bullshit have you been feeding him, Clark?” 

Ingram looked spooked at the calm demeanor Will was channeling, the corner of his mouth ticking minutely downward at the challenging words. “Are you accusing me of something, Will?”

Will stared at him for a minute. Leaning forward slightly, he dropped his voice lower, keeping his eye contact with Ingram. 

“Seems to me, Mr. Ingram, you’ve been feeding your foster kids with some dark thoughts. What would the other kids under your ‘care’ say, I wonder if I were to ask them what you’ve been saying to them and we all start comparing notes? Do you think the director would like to hear these thoughts? I think she’d be at least interested to listen to the lot of us instead of just one unstable orphan, don’t you?”

Ingram stayed silent for a long moment, his expression unchanged though there was a tic at his eye, there and gone in a second. He didn’t break their eye contact. After several minutes, his jaw worked and he finally broke into one of his fake smiles. 

“I believe that’s the only time we have for today,” Ingram said, his face settling back to his pleasant facade. “I’m sure you don’t need to see me anymore after this, not when you’re going to be an adult soon.”

Gritting his teeth, Will forced himself to lean back into his seat, affecting a relaxed stance. “Yes, I’m sure I don’t need to speak with Mrs. Wharton if we don’t need to see each other again.” 

Another fake smile, though Ingram’s eyes looked murderous. He rose, making a show of looking at his watch. “Well, Will, it was nice to talk with you. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you to take care of yourself. It’s a crazy world out there.”

Narrowing his eyes, Will stared at Ingram until the man walked out of the visiting room, his shoulders slumping with relief only when Ingram was finally gone. 

Shit. Now he really did need to find out what the hell Ingram had been doing to the other kids under his care.

It took a lot of coaxing and soft conversations with Peter for Will to find out the extent of the scars Ingram had left on the foster kids under his care. On one hand, Will was grateful that this new mission of his took him out of his grief and pain, but on the other hand, he was appalled to discover that Peter had been hurt a lot worse than he thought.

Ingram knew that there was no one else championing for Peter except for Will, and who would take the words of two “damaged” orphans seriously? Their social worker knew just how much their words weighted at St. Giles, and he used it to his advantage. 

Peter was a wreck when he finally confided to Will, both of them absconding to an abandoned factory around the neighborhood. With a tremulous and sometimes faltering voice, Peter told him just what Ingram had been saying in their “private sessions”, and Will’s stomach dropped at the thought that Ingram was allowed to do this to perhaps so many others he never knew about.

“I t-think he’s dangerous, Will,” Peter said, eyes darting nervously around the empty area as Will paced back and forth, needing to let out some of his anger. His stutter was growing worse as he tried to convey everything he could to Will. “I think he hurt people. I don’t have p-proof, but he t-talked to me about some of the missing kids, and no one bothered to look for them because t-they’re foster kids, he told me their names and—” 

His words cut off with a shudder and Peter began rocking back and forth on where he was seated, trying to soothe himself. 

Will made his way to him then, attempting to calm his friend though he knew better than to touch Peter. “Hey, hey, I’m here,” he whispered. “Ingram’s not here, he can’t hurt you right now. We’ll keep this a secret, yeah?”

Peter’s eyes came up to meet his, dark with worry and pooling with unshed tears. “Y-you’re not going to tell him, right?”

“Of course not,” he replied. “Just… tell me more of what he told you if you can remember later, okay? I’m… I need it to keep us both safe.”

Though Peter looked unconvinced, he did eventually nod before he wiped his tears on the back of his hands. “Okay, Will. I’ll tell you more.”

His rage for Clark Ingram continued to simmer under the surface, though Will kept it hidden well, feigning disinterest in the ongoings around him. 

True to his words, Ingram had stayed away from Will for now, so it was becoming easier to focus on his studies. Will tried to push his obsessive need for revenge aside for the final semester of school, using his anger to fuel his motivation to graduate. 

Will could finally let out a sigh of relief when the guidance counselor told him that he’d been offered several scholarships for the schools of his choice, his heart bursting with joy at the news. Even if his dad wasn’t around to see him graduate, it was enough to know that he had achieved this despite the obvious drawbacks of his situation, despite Ingram’s spiteful words whispered in his ears throughout the last few years.

When Will turned eighteen, he breathed another sigh of relief. 

He was _free._

Though he was excited to be heading to college and finally be completely free of Ingram, there was also the fact that Peter would still be under Ingram’s care until the state decided what could be done for someone in Peter’s case.

Will listened with dismay when Peter told him that Mrs. Wharton had called him and Ingram in for a final consultation a few days ago.

“She t-told me that Clark will continue to be my social worker after t-this,” Peter said, wringing his hands. The two of them were at the abandoned factory once more. It was one of the few areas that offered them absolute privacy, which they needed whenever their talks turned to Ingram. 

“Why?” Will frowned.

“She said I… I need to find ‘gainful employment’ and a place to stay, which she told me wasn’t possible for me because of… how I am.” Peter winced and moved his hands to pick at the fraying seam of his jacket. “Clark is supposed t-to help me until then.”

Will was seething. No way in hell was Ingram going to do anything of the sort for Peter. Knowing the man, he would probably keep Peter under his thumbs indefinitely just to lord over his superiority. 

“That asshole,” Will growled. 

“I don’t know what to d-do,” Peter admitted, putting his head between his legs to stop from hyperventilating.

Will kneeled in front of Peter, putting his hand hesitantly on the other boy’s shoulder. Peter flinched at the touch, but he didn’t pull away. 

“I’m going to help you, Peter,” he whispered.

Peter let out a dry sob, and Will wanted nothing more than to stab Ingram for what he had done to the two of them.

After that, Will sat down with Peter every day to brainstorm just what can be done about Peter’s situation.

If Peter were to be left in any other social worker’s care, Will wouldn’t have to worry too much over his friend’s eventual fate. But as it was, Ingram was too volatile as a loose end. Eventually, Will was resigned to the fact that he had no other choice but to cut off that loose end somehow.

Grimly, he began to plot the way to Peter’s freedom.

After weeks of planning and some instances of stalking, Will finally had a plan. 

It was a crude one, and he knew that there was a chance that everything could go to hell, but he was desperate. He would be leaving soon, and he needed to ensure that Peter wouldn’t be left under Ingram’s dubious “care”.

On Friday nights, Ingram was often seen working late into the evening, and he would emerge from his workplace around 9 PM, where he would then walk over to the parking garage a few blocks away to retrieve his car. The area would be mostly deserted around this time, as most people would have already left for their Friday revelries, except for an odd straggler or two. 

Owing to the current winter chill and the occasional rain showers, Will hoped that people would opt to stay inside instead of braving the cold in the middle of the downtown office district while Will waited for Ingram. The rain was pattering softly onto the sidewalk he was loitering at. He would only have a small window of time where he could catch Ingram unawares in one of the deserted alleyways along the blocks on the way to the parking garage. 

When he finally saw Ingram making his way out of the building and onto the paved walkway, he shadowed the man silently, keeping his tread light until he saw his chance. Closing the space between them, he dug the pointed end of the knife into Ingram’s back, the sudden sharp edge of the blade against his skin making Ingram stop in his tracks.

“Move into the alley,” Will muttered, keeping his tone low and gruff, his voice muffled by the fabric mask he was wearing. Beads of sweat trickled through his hairline as he tried to control his breathing.

Slowly, Ingram obeyed, though his body seemed poised to attack as he tried to gauge his chances of escaping. “Listen, man,” Ingram started saying, sounding harried, “I’ll just give you my wallet—”

“Move, and shut up,” Will growled.

Ingram obeyed, the threat of the knife at his back spurring him on. Once they’re at the mouth of the alleyway, Will pushed him further inside, making Ingram stumble into the narrow alley. Will pinned him face-first into the brick wall then, knife digging deeper while he ordered for Ingram to keep his hands up. “Leave your wallet and I’ll let you live,” Will rasped.

Slowly, Ingram obeyed. With that done, Will took his chance to hit Ingram’s head against the brick wall several times as hard as he could, the man groaning in pain and crumpling onto the ground instantly. 

Why had he never done this to Ingram before? 

There wasn’t too much difference in their size, but somehow he’d always thought of the man as an adult whom he could never presume to hurt. He’d contemplated on how he would feel when the time came for him to strike out against Ingram, and he’d always thought he’d feel guilty, at the very least.

But this? This felt… good.

Will made sure he had a tight grip on his knife as he straddled Ingram. The man was still struggling to regain his focus, the blood from his forehead running into his eyes. He was beginning to struggle against Will, blinking away the blood rapidly while he cursed. Without a second thought, Will raised his arms and stabbed in between Ingram’s ribs, making sure the force of the motion would drive the knife in as deep as it could into Ingram’s skin.

It wasn’t easy to pierce the knife through the layers of skin, but through sheer will, he twisted the blade in his hands to make sure that it tore into Ingram’s body. 

There was a look of shock on Ingram’s face, the man going pale and eyes wide when he realized that he’d been stabbed. When Will pulled out the blade out of Ingram, blood started to gurgle out of his mouth and gushed from the open wound, and Will hastily stepped away from the man to avoid getting blood spraying onto him (as much as he could avoid it at this stage, anyway).

He didn’t feel anything other than cold fury and a sense of justice as he looked down on Ingram’s body, jerking and convulsing, eyes unseeing. Ingram was trying to seek him out, and he relished the dawning recognition in Ingram’s eyes when they made eye contact.

Clark Ingram had underestimated him, thinking of him as just another orphan to bully. He was confident that Ingram would have never thought to implicate Will in anything. He didn’t know just what Will was capable of.

Turns out Will was capable of a lot. 

Without another word, Will left.

That night, Will slipped into his dorm room, the rest of his dormmates sound asleep by the time he made his way inside unnoticed. Peter was the only one still awake, his eyes going wide when he finally saw Will. 

Along the way, Will had torn open the plastic rain jacket he’d been wearing over his clothes, wrapping the blade he used to kill Ingram with the remnants of the plastic. His heart had pounded with the realization that he’d killed someone. He was sure that if there was anyone around at the time, they would have noticed his furtive glances and the guilt written on his face when he finally boarded a bus several blocks away.

He had gotten off a few stops before St. Giles, making sure he could find another abandoned alleyway where he could discard the torn rain jacket inside one of the dumpsters. He’d taken precautions where he could elsewhere, and he hoped his heavy winter gloves would obscure any usable fingerprints. 

The knife had been returned to the establishment’s kitchen once it was cleaned and wiped down before he went to his dorm room. Will prayed that no one would ever think to search for the murder weapon in a foster home’s kitchen. No one except Peter knew that Will held high animosity against Ingram after all, except maybe Mrs. Wharton, though she might’ve put down his behavior down to grief at the time. 

The gloves were harder to get rid of immediately. Will waited through the night, heart palpitating in an erratic rhythm while he tried to sleep until the next day dawned. Then, he had pulled Peter with him to go outside on the pretense of going to the park and they made their way to the abandoned factory where they had first conspired to get rid of Ingram.

Peter helped him to start a fire in one of the discarded containers, and they stared at the fire for several minutes as the flames rose to greet them. Will discarded the gloves, clothes, and the shoes he was wearing last night. The flame licked everything up, rising higher and higher until everything turned into ashes.

It was several hours later upon their return to the dorm that Will heard murmurs that something had happened to Ingram. Much to his relief, the murmurs came to a short end when there was no more information forthcoming, at least not until the next several days later. 

That was when the children who were under Ingram’s care were called to Mrs. Wharton’s office, where Mrs. Wharton then announced gravely that Clark Ingram was found dead in an alleyway a few nights ago. The police had ruled it out as a robbery gone wrong, having found no other evidence to the contrary.

“We are very saddened by the news,” Mrs. Wharton said, hands folded on the desk as her glance wandered around to each of them. 

Will couldn’t help but think of how untrue that statement would be for the children in the room. Most of them looked shocked, though no one looked grieved by it in the least. 

“Rest assured we’re working on getting a replacement social worker for most of you, and that they would ensure with utmost care to get you more fitting placements,” Mrs. Wharton continued when it looked like no one was going to speak. “In any case, no one needs to worry as we’ll get it sorted out. But if you feel like you need to talk with someone, please schedule an appointment with Dr. Martins, our resident psychologist. You can also reach out to any of the caregivers if you need someone to talk to.”

Will almost snorted at the rosy way Mrs. Wharton spoke of the rest of the caregivers. Sure, they weren’t bad people — not like Ingram, anyway — but they were tired and overworked. He doubted they would have the time to deal with more distraught children at the moment, especially when the burden of caring for Ingram’s foster cases would fall onto them.

“You can also come to me if you need to.” So saying, Mrs. Wharton nodded and gave everyone an encouraging smile. “Well, back to your activities then. Oh, except for Peter and Will, if you please.”

Will and Peter exchanged looks as the rest of the children filed out of the room, Will’s anxiety rocketing at the thought that he’d been discovered somehow. But no. If she had any suspicions, she would’ve called the police, and as far as Will knew he hadn’t seen any law enforcement hanging around St. Giles just yet. Forcing his body to loosen, he stared at the crowfeet around Mrs. Wharton’s eyes instead of speaking.

“Please, take a seat,” Mrs. Wharton said, waiting until they did so before she continued. “Well, it looks like the two of you would be graduating out of St. Giles soon.”

“Graduating” out of foster care sounded like a good thing, but the fact of the matter was that they were basically being thrown out into the world with no preparation other than what they had endeavored to make, but Will kept his mouth shut. Now was not the time to fight semantics. Not when he was so close to freedom.

Peter merely nodded while Will stayed silent.

“Now, Will, I understand that you’ve been accepted to several schools — and with a scholarship, no less! — and I’m very proud to hear that.” Mrs. Wharton beamed. 

Will offered a small smile and a thanks before he dipped his head down again.

“I’m sure it must be exciting for you, I trust you’ve made arrangements with the school of your choice?” 

Will nodded and cleared his throat, fists unclenching themselves when it became clear that they were not going to talk about Ingram. “Yes,” he rasped. “I will be enrolling soon.”

“And what are you planning to study, dear?”

“Ideally, I’m aiming for a BA and eventually an MA for forensics psychology,” Will answered truthfully. He himself had no idea when his notion for this studies had started, but the idea had cemented itself in him for the past few months. What had happened with Ingram only solidified his resolve.

“Oh.” Mrs. Wharton blinked before she let out a startled huff of laughter. “Well, I never expected that! It sounds exciting, you’ll have to tell me more about it when we have the time to meet again. I wish you all the best.”

Another thank you, and Will waited for more. She must have had something else to talk with them, and he wondered what was coming.

The woman only gave him another indulgent smile before she turned to Peter. “Now, Peter, since you’ve turned eighteen as well, you know that you and Will would be out of here in a matter of weeks, don’t you? We’ve been making arrangements on the discharge papers mostly, so it’s all just paperwork.”

Peter nodded silently.

“Right.” Mrs. Wharton cleared her throat, throwing another glance at Will. “Well, initially there was a plan for Mr. Ingram to take over your case indefinitely because of your, ah, situation. In light of what’s happened though, the agency had been hard-pressed to find a temporary solution on such short notice. As most of the other social workers are not available, so—”

“I can help him, Mrs. Wharton,” Will interrupted her.

Mrs. Wharton looked shocked for only a moment before her face bloomed into a smile. “Oh, dear, would you? Truthfully, we were hoping for your help, since you and Peter were such good friends, but of course, we have no right to ask for other children to help—”

Will sighed; he did not need the explanations. “It’s okay, I can help him. We’ll go around the area and see if there are any opportunities for you, right, Peter?”

Peter smiled at Will, bright and happy as he nodded. 

The gratitude and relief at no longer having Ingram in his life and the thought of their near-freedom were enough to buoy him throughout the rest of the meeting with Mrs. Wharton. Will did as much as he could to assure her that they’d be fine and that Will would accompany Peter to meet with the agency to figure out what would happen next.

As it turned out, the agency was rather competent at finding such opportunities for Peter. It was becoming abundantly clear to Will that Ingram was the stumbling block in most of the progress. It was something that Will had suspected, especially with how unhelpful and condescending Ingram had been with Will’s situation. 

Barely two weeks after he and Peter met with one of the agencies’ representatives, Peter received the news that there was a local animal shelter that would love to have his help. While the pay could hardly be called generous, it was more than enough for someone like Peter and Will, who’d worked hard to save their allocated allowance every month just to be able to afford some of the smaller things in life (like new shoes, or ice cream when they were in the mood for it).

At any rate, Will went with Peter to meet with the people at the animal shelter when Peter was called in for an interview. Amazingly enough, Peter was even offered boarding at the local shelter as they were renting out the whole building. The rent wasn’t particularly cheap and the room was hardly what you’d call “spacious”, but it was a much better prospect than the common room the two of them had shared with the other children at St. Giles. Peter had listened wide-eyed at the offer before he accepted.

“Would y-you be okay with someone like me?” Peter stuttered at the end of the interview.

The woman who was conducting the interview — a Miss Sarah Craber — only smiled in answer. “Oh don’t worry, I have a feeling you’ll fit right in.”

And so it was when Will finally left for George Washington University, he was able to part from his best friend with a lighter heart.

“I’ll still be seeing you around, Peter,” Will reminded his friend when they parted from their hug. “Can’t get rid of me that easily. Especially now that I know you’re gonna be with dogs 24/7.”

Peter laughed, his grin widening. “Thanks, Will,” he whispered, eyes watery. “You’re a great friend. P-please come and visit whenever you’re free.”

Will smiled. “I’ll hold you to that.”

College life was pretty much what he expected. Will had some trouble in the first few weeks while he tried to adjust to the total freedom he’d suddenly stumbled into. Used to the routines of St. Giles and high school and used to having his teachers and caregivers sticking their necks into his business most of the time, he found it odd to have so much uninterrupted time. Technically, he could even skip all his classes, and most of his professors wouldn’t even bat their eyelashes at it provided that he aced his tests at the end of the semester.

Of course, Will kept his head down still, and he tried his best to be unobtrusive and cram as much knowledge as he could in the coming years. He made a few friends, but mostly he kept to himself. It was nice, in a way, no one knowing about his past or what he’d been through. No one knew him as “the orphan” or “the foster kid”, and there was no social hierarchy or niceties to adhere to since he wasn’t interested in joining all these fraternities or whatever extracurricular activities offered at GWU.

For the first time in decades, Will found himself content.

At the back of his mind, however, the knowledge that he had killed someone lingered. It only took one glance towards his dad’s urn to remind him that it was what Ingram deserved.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, sorry to bring everyone down yet again. I promise it'll get better for Will!


	12. interlude part III: becoming

When Will graduated from George Washington University, he had gone to several job interviews, though he was most excited for a chance to work at the FBI (along with almost 70% of his peers). 

For one, the pay was good. For another, Will had realized that there was something about the criminals he’d been studying that had caught his interest. He had a knack at profiling them, which some of his professors had seemed pleasantly surprised at, and above all, he found them fascinating. 

He didn’t confide the latter to his supervisor for obvious reasons when he told Dr. Forrester that he would like to have a chance to work as a criminal profiler at the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. Dr. Forrester had appraised him with mild interest, but he wrote a referral letter for him for his upcoming interview, anyway.

The interview took place over several days, which culminated in a final session with the Head of the BAU, Special Agent Douglas. The man’s eyes were keen as he assessed Will, asking him several seemingly unrelated questions for almost three hours before he let Will go. It was the most nerve-racking interview he’d sat down for thus far. He hoped that his sweaty palms weren’t going to be a factor in his acceptance when he shook Douglas’s hands after.

Predictably, everything went smoothly until Will was asked to go through a mandatory psychological test.

His face fell when he read the letter he received weeks after his interview at the BAU. The letter probably meant that he was one of the candidates selected for a final assessment before they either accept or reject him. So the test would either make or break him. Seeing no other choice, he took the test on the scheduled date.

He wasn’t surprised when he never received a call back from the FBI.

Admittedly, it wasn’t the biggest blow or even the biggest disappointment in his life, so Will moved on and eventually decided to go into the force. He wasn’t interested in academic life, at least not at the moment. He would much rather see some action instead of being stuck reading about the criminals he was supposed to catch. There was only so much he could do if he went down that path, anyway; being in the force meant he could affect a more direct change. Besides, having a background in law enforcement would hopefully help him in his career path if he decided to try for the FBI again. 

It was vaguely insulting and somewhat depressing when Will was accepted into the Vienna Police Department without so much as a second interview. He wouldn’t even be surprised if they didn’t even go through his background check. Still, there wasn’t that much opportunity elsewhere, so he had to make do for now. 

It was at this point that he finally moved back into his house at Wolf Trap. 

Will hadn’t been back for almost eight years, not since he was taken away from Beau Graham. Ingram had not allowed any weekend visits to his house when he was still in foster care, since Beau Graham was never all that punctual with his visits. When he had studied at GWU, it didn’t occur to him to visit the place at all. It was easier to ignore the ache in his heart by pretending life outside of his sphere didn’t exist. At least until the pain of it had lessened to a dull throbbing.

He wasn’t surprised at the state of the house, though he expected much worse out of a property that had been left empty for several years. Perhaps the local vagrants didn’t see anything interesting in the lonely house in the middle of nowhere, or perhaps no one knew its location due to it being almost isolated from the neighboring area. The exterior seemed pretty sturdy, although the house looked weathered by the passing years. His dad and his friends had done a good job, at least, for the structure to still be standing after all these years. 

The inside looked neglected. There were a few leaking points that would need fixing, and Will stumbled on some creatures nesting in one of the rooms. Raccoons, maybe. The house had been emptied of any valuables, but some of the old furniture was still there. Will had a feeling he ought to replace them anyhow judging by the state of them. Some of the wooden ones were still usable, though. A small blessing, since he wouldn’t be able to afford much at this rate. He didn’t want to touch what was left of his “inheritance” money (if it could even be called that). 

Amazingly enough, there was a piano sequestered at a corner of the room. It looked old and weathered with several years’ worth of dust settled on it. Will wondered if Beau ever actually played or even touched the instrument. He recalled Beau telling him during one of their visits that a guy who’d hired him for his services had offered him the piano since he was getting a replacement. An odd form of payment, but Beau had accommodated him. Did he think that Will would appreciate it once he returned?

He decided to keep the piano. It was an odd thing to be sentimental about, considering he’d never even touched the instrument before this. 

Despite the state of the house, Will found himself disproportionately happy with his findings. There was nothing better than tinkering with things with your own hands, and he looked forward to fixing up the house.

The project took him several months. He had to hire an electrician, an exterminator, and a plumber to get everything back in working order. He carried out the rest of the heavy work himself, happy to have something to do to shut off his mind. 

By the second month, he was finally called in for duty to join the Vienna Police Department. By then most of the problems with the house were more or less resolved. He was slowly replacing the furniture and reclaiming the space bit by bit.

Slowly, Wolf Trap started to feel like home.

When he was finally happy with the state of things, he took Beau Graham’s small urn and scattered the ashes around Wolf Trap. The empty urn was displayed near the work desk next to the window. 

Will didn’t put much stock in the afterlife, but he’d like to think that Beau was looking in on him from time to time. The urn was a reminder of what he’d lost — and now, what he had gained.

For the next several years, life was thankfully simple.

Sure, the work wasn’t anything exciting. He was relegated to a desk job for the first two years until he finally moved up a pay grade. He was still an officer, but at least he got to go on patrols and follow the detectives around. There weren’t a lot of exciting cases and most of the ones Will was assigned to involved petty criminals. Some of them were disheartening; a failure of the system that Will couldn’t correct alone, leaving him feeling hopeless at times. 

The criminal investigations became routine at one point, and as routine bred familiarity, Will found himself feeling… bored.

Vienna’s crime rate wasn’t as high as the rest of the Virginia districts. Which was either a good thing (in that the crime rate was low because the law enforcement was effective) or a bad thing (in that the crime rate was low because the law enforcement was incompetent and was purposely underreporting the cases), depending on how you looked at it.

And it didn’t look flattering. He had known, at some point, how the world works. There will be misdeeds and injustice that go unpunished everywhere. The fact that he had gotten away with literal murder was proof of that, after all. Still, getting to see the inner workings of the law enforcement cemented his conviction that the corruption ran deep. By the end of his third year in the police force, Will felt even more disillusioned with his job and life in general.

He couldn’t help but wonder if this was what he wanted to do with his life.

Will was so bored at one point that he began to pick up old and new hobbies: tinkering with motor engines, fly fishing, and piano lessons. The piano needed some tuning but it was otherwise salvageable. He wasn’t particularly enamored with it at first, though he was beginning to grow some appreciation for the instrument. Sure, he wasn’t particularly good at it, but he kept at it anyway. Beau’s empty urn was eventually moved on top of the piano.

In between work and his idle hobbies, Will visited Peter in his spare time. Peter was still working at the same animal shelter, and he looked happier than Will had ever seen him, which was gratifying. In the last few years, Sarah Craber had come to trust Peter, so much so that he almost had a run of the shelter, happily supported by a few other employees and volunteers. He and Peter met each other every other week or so, especially once Will became attached to some of the dogs. Peter was only too happy to entertain him when Will came around.

When his hobbies and rekindled friendship didn’t seem to help his restlessness, he began to look into the unsolved crimes around the area. He didn’t fancy himself as a vigilante, but there was such a dearth of anything interesting that the more infamous crimes around the area began to catch his attention. Several serial killers were running loose, but only one name truly stuck out to him: the Chesapeake Ripper.

Out of sheer curiosity and boredom, he kept up with the news of the Ripper, in part because he was fascinated with the displays the killer made out of his victims. The displays were mostly described as gruesome, but Will was particularly enamored with how… elegant it was, for the lack of a better word. There was artistry behind it, though he doubted anyone else would see it as the same way. His colleagues at the Vienna Police Department were always disparaging the Maryland officers and the FBI for failing to catch the Ripper, so he opted to keep his thoughts to himself. 

He could probably blame the Ripper in part for what happened to him next.

Will was waiting in a nondescript car on a stake-out while Detective Johnson barged into their suspect’s house with another police officer in tow. He was one of the few officers assisting the detective, who was from another precinct, and so he’d been relegated to the “driver” role while the rest of the officers were doing the actual “crime-busting”. Not that he had any complaints about that. 

Evidently, they had thought that this particular run-of-the-mill drug lord wouldn’t be particularly dangerous, so Will was distracted at the helm of the car as he waited for the rest of his colleagues. His thoughts had turned to the Ripper’s last kill (a priest found with his tongue between his bible), recalling the details of the crime scene as he tried to retrace the Ripper’s thoughts.

That turned out to be a terrible mistake. The suspect had sensed Will’s inattentiveness and took his chance. The man pulled Will out of the car after forcing it open and stabbed his shoulder through the ensuing struggle. Cursing at the pain, Will took out his gun and managed to disarm the other man before back-up arrived.

Will suspected that the only reason he didn’t get a thorough dressing down by the chief of police, later on, was because it was assumed that he got injured in the line of duty. Will didn’t say anything to indicate otherwise after the fact. Better than them knowing that the injury was partially his fault since he was too busy thinking of the Ripper’s mesmerizing tableau.

Detective Johnson had called for an ambulance and Will was summarily taken to Johns Hopkins.

That was how Will met Abel Gideon.

Abel Gideon was the surgeon-on-duty when Will was wheeled into Johns Hopkins. 

Though Will wasn’t in any danger of dying, he was experiencing shock and severe blood loss, and Doctor Gideon had been the one to patch him up. When Will eventually woke up from his drug-induced sleep, he became acquainted with the doctor with an acerbic sense of humor. 

The doctor and the nurses were anyone Will saw for a while. 

(His colleagues had visited him intermittently, though it was more out of duty than a true sense of camaraderie or friendship. Will would rather they do without the “hospitality” if he was honest.)

He didn’t know why, but for some reason, Abel took an interest in him. To his own shock, he began reciprocating the flirtatious remarks and the increasingly obvious advances Abel kept on making when the doctor came to make his rounds. Maybe it was the flattery or the heady feeling of being desired for the first time in his life — Will was only human, after all. 

He was lonely, after so many years of fending for himself and holding everyone at arm’s length. He’d gone through the past two decades without any connection to anyone other than Peter, content with his only friend for a while. But he only saw Peter now and then once they’d left St. Giles, and he was beginning to feel that maybe there could be more to life if only he’d open himself to the opportunities.

Despite his misgivings when it came to personal relationships, he gave in to his desire for companionship.

It only took him a few weeks to find out what a terrible mistake that was.

At first, Will didn’t see the warning signs for what they were. After all, Abel was a charming man, and though his temper could get the best of him sometimes, Will had attributed it to the man’s irregular and unusual working hours. He knew what it was like to go without sleep sometimes when they’re on a stake-out, and so he excused Abel’s fluctuating mood. They met each other irregularly, though Abel always made some time to meet him after his hectic day, which was highly flattering. No one else had bothered to do so all these years.

Since Will was on paid leave due to his hospitalization and recovery, he had all the time in the world to entertain some company at any rate. The first two dates were a nice “getting to know you” phase, and by the third date, Will had invited Abel back to Wolf Trap for a dinner date, three weeks since their initial encounter with each other.

It was then that he started to see the warning signs. There was a streak of jealousy in Abel, something that he usually kept well-controlled. Will had seen it several times, but he had ignored it because who the hell would Abel even be jealous of? 

Abel’s possessiveness seemed to emerge when Will talked about his friendship with Peter, however.

“So Peter is… your lifelong friend from the orphanage?” Abel asked during dinner, sounding nonchalant. Something was lurking behind his eyes.

“From the foster home, yep,” Will answered, struggling to keep his tone nonchalant. “Only friend I had. Well, technically still the only friend I have at this point.”

Will changed the subject, not liking where the conversation was going when Abel had seemed too interested in that tidbit. They moved on to more pleasant subjects, though Will was relieved when Abel was called away for an emergency surgery an hour later. 

After that particular incident, Will made it a point not to invite anyone else other than Peter to Wolf Trap.

It took another two weeks for Abel to start showing his true colors. 

Having agreed to meet at Abel’s house (Will was wary of letting anyone into his sanctuary now), Will had fallen into a sense of complacency after a nice meal and a few tumblers of Abel’s finest whiskey. They had started making out on the couch before Abel suddenly pulled away, his gaze serious as he stared down at Will.

“If I told you to stop meeting Peter, would you do it?”

Will raised his eyebrow and tried to smirk at that, trying to hide how uncomfortable he suddenly felt. “And why would this be relevant to the matter at hand?”

Abel chuckled, though Will noted how his grip on Will’s skin tightened minutely. “It’s a hypothetical question, Will,” Abel said, his smile genial.

Will narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, I’m not liking where this is going,” he said after a few seconds of silence. He pushed Abel away, though he gasped when Abel fisted his curls and forced him to remain still. 

“Shit,” he hissed. “Let go of me.”

“It’s a simple question which requires a simple answer,” Abel snarled, no longer smiling. “I don’t think you appreciate all the time I’ve sacrificed for you, Will.”

“No one asked you to make the sacrifice,” Will spit out, trying to shove Abel off of him. 

He managed to dislodge the man off him once he sank his teeth into Abel’s throat rather viciously. Abel hissed in pain as he dropped to the floor, taking Will with him. They both crashed into the coffee table, Abel’s body taking the brunt of their weight as they tumbled onto the floor, his hands still tight around Will’s body.

They struggled to gain the upper hand, though Abel managed to pin Will on the floor before long. Abel wrapped his hands around Will’s throat while Will’s hand scrambled to land a few blows on the other man. It was then that Abel, enraged, pulled one hand back and hit Will in the face several times. The blows were so unexpected that Will let out a shocked cry of alarm when Abel’s fist connected to his face.

Abel seemed to come out of his rage, then, looking shocked at the cry and groan of pain Will let out. Loosening his hold on Will, he sat back on his knees and looked down at him in horror, his hands going limp by his side. 

“Shit,” Abel hissed out, eyes wide with panic. 

Scrambling over Will again, he pushed Will’s hands away, checking him for bruises. Will hissed in pain when Abel’s fingers brushed against his already swollen cheek. He was having trouble seeing out of one eye, still trying to adjust from the pain and the shock from finding himself beaten by someone whom he had been making out only minutes earlier.

“Shit,” Abel repeated, rising into a panicked pace while Will lay prostrate on the ground, trying to get rid of the headache in his head. “Okay, no harm done, it’s only your face, let me get you to the hospital, yeah?”

He only became aware of how his body was trembling with the shock when Abel pulled him into a stand. He leaned into the man as he took him to Johns Hopkins. Abel claimed that Will had taken a stumble over a few flights of stairs in answer to the shocked exclamations the nurse let out at the sight of his bloodied and bruised face, and Will said nothing. 

It was evident that the nurses didn’t believe what Abel was saying, their eyes knowing as they gazed pityingly at Will. No one dared to say anything to challenge Abel, however, so Will kept his mouth shut.

Swallowing his shock, he stayed numb throughout the treatment, letting the nurses do what they would with him. Technically he was there on an unofficial visit, which Abel took care to mention to anyone who paid them any attention. The nurse who attended to him didn’t say anything while Abel was hovering over them as she treated Will’s wounds.

“It’s not too bad,” the nurse said after she was done with him, giving him a strained smile. “You should put an icepack on your cheek in the next few days until the swelling goes down, and luckily you don’t need any stitches. I’d recommend an ointment for your eyes if there’s any irritation.”

“Thanks,” Will muttered. The shock was wearing off little by little, slowly replaced with a cold sense of rage — something he hadn’t felt since he’d found out about the true extent of Ingram’s crime. 

He bided his time, though. He didn’t speak beyond what was necessary, though the nurse who had treated him managed to slip a note with a phone number on him while Abel was preparing to leave. The two of them shared a glance before Will walked away with Abel, his rage slowly coiling around him as he planned for Abel’s demise.

Will broke off his relationship with the man as soon as Abel had ushered him into his car.

Abel looked as if he had expected it, and he only nodded silently before he offered to send Will off to Wolf Trap. Wanting nothing to do with the man after what had happened, Will declined and asked Abel to drop him off at his apartment, since Will’s secondhand car was still there for their disastrous date. 

He got into his car without another glance at Abel, and it took him several minutes to calm down once he drove away, his hands trembling on the steering wheel.

Truthfully, planning to kill someone was easier than doing it, and Will’s plan fell to the wayside in the following days. 

He was due to return to work in another two weeks, and he took the time off to himself, secluding himself in his house for several days until he mustered the energy to call Peter to schedule a visit with him at the animal shelter.

When he finally found himself there, he was filled with so much relief at the sight of his friend and the animals trying to catch his attention. They sat down for a calm afternoon tea. Will didn’t say much. He could see Peter’s concern when the man’s eyes landed on the healing bruises on Will’s cheek.

“You doing okay, Will?” Peter asked, his eyes sweeping over the rest of Will.

He nodded and gave his friend a reassuring smile. “Better now, I think.” A pause before he continued. “Can you do me a favor?”

Peter nodded, eyes squinting. “Sure, what kind?”

“Just… Can I come here when I need to? I feel a bit… bereft, lately,” he admitted in a small voice. 

“You’re always welcomed here, Will,” Peter replied. “The dogs love you. Ms. Craber was telling me that she was t-thinking of letting you train some of the newer ones because you’re always so good with them.”

Will chuckled at that, smiling genuinely for the first time since his incident with Abel. “Sure, I’d love to. Though I can’t have them for too long; I’d get too attached.”

“You can always take one of them home.”

“No… I don’t think that’s a great idea,” Will muttered, sighing. “Not at the rate I’m going with my life.”

Peter stared at him for a long moment, looking concerned. “Will, are you happy?”

Will shrugged. “Is anyone ever truly happy?”

“I am,” Peter said simply. “I found something t-that I loved to do. I have a great employer and I get to be with animals all day. And I have a great friend like you.”

To his mortification, Will found his eyes watering at that. He looked away hastily, willing his tears away though his face burned in embarrassment. 

“Thanks, Peter,” he replied, looking down into his lap. “Truthfully, I don’t know what I’d rather be doing at this point.”

“You don’t seem happy on the force, Will.”

Will sighed. “I’m feeling a bit disillusioned.”

“Well then, q-quit.”

He blinked owlishly for a few seconds, his gaze flitting back to Peter. “And do… what?”

Peter shrugged. “You’ve always been good at fixing stuff. You told me that you liked it back when you and your dad used to do it together. Or you can become good at piano I guess, and give lessons.”

Laughing despite himself, Will shook his head. “Yeah, I’m a long way away from becoming a piano instructor. Though… I could do some freelance work I guess, see if I still got what it takes.”

Peter brightened at that. “Oh, Ms. Craber was complaining about her car a week ago, maybe you can have a look at that later when you’re free?”

Will raised an eyebrow, amused. “Already got something lined up for me, huh?”

Peter only grinned and offered to take some of the dogs with him for an exercise after that, Will joining them for another hour as they trawled through the nearby park. It was exactly what he needed out of the visit, and before he left, he gave Peter a grateful hug, the smaller man returning the hug with a squeeze before Will left.

Will returned to the Vienna Police Department the next day with his resignation letter in hand.

His superior merely nodded, looking resigned. He talked to Will with the assumption that he was still traumatized by the outcome of his last stake-out. Will said nothing to disabuse him of that notion. 

He did squint at the bruise on Will’s face when Will sat down across from him.

“You’re getting into bar fights or something, Graham?” the chief asked, brows drawing together.

Will affected a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “Uh, not really. Just got out of a bad relationship. I, uh, I was thinking of filing for a report on that. I might need a restraining order against my… ex-partner.”

The chief nodded, eyes grave. No doubt he’d seen his fair share of domestic abuse, with how resigned he looked by Will’s confession. “Here, let me walk you through the process and your partner will be out of your hair soon.”

Life became simpler after that, though Will led a lonely life. Considering his track record of past relationships, though, a lonely life might not be the worst thing at this point. 

It was entirely too easy to fall into his dad’s kind of lifestyle whenever he got too lonely, and he could see why Beau Graham had an affair with alcohol. Though Will learned to appreciate a good whiskey, he didn’t partake or indulge in it as much as he could, all too aware of what fate could befall him if he did. The urn on the piano was always a good wake-up call. 

As it turned out, being a freelance mechanic suited him well. Once Peter had helped him to get his first job, Sarah Craber had then recommended Will’s service to her colleagues, and soon Will found himself swamped with requests for several odd jobs here and there. It took him a few months to find his rhythm, and once he was satisfied with the clients he had, it was easier to choose which kind of jobs he’d rather take. 

Ever since he was taken to St. Giles, he’d learned to lead a frugal life, and the habits had stuck. He didn’t need much in his life, and the money that he didn’t spend on his hobbies had been set aside for his savings. 

It was a nice change of pace, and he adapted to it after several months. Despite his solitude, it was nice not to have any obligations to others. Aside from his friendship with Peter (which extended to Sarah Craber once Will became a semi-regular “volunteer” at the animal shelter), he didn’t think there was any point in putting himself out there. 

Not after what happened at St. Giles, and especially not after what happened with Abel.

He still remembered how powerful he felt when he had taken Ingram’s life, how sweet the vindication and relief felt after years of being abused by the man. It took him years to see Ingram’s actions for what it was, and sometimes he still beat himself up at the fact that he didn’t recognize the telltale signs of it in Abel. 

Perhaps his need for companionship had blinded him to the warning signs. Hence: No more relationships. In any case, he was glad he could extricate himself out of it.

With the restraining order in place, Will wasn’t too worried about what might happen with Abel. Though he didn’t have much faith in the law enforcement (especially having been part of it), he had backup plans in case Abel decided to show up in Wolf Trap. It made him paranoid for the first couple of months, at least until it seemed like Abel wouldn’t be reaching out any time soon. 

Still, the shotgun was never far out of reach when Will fell asleep at night.

A year passed in this way before Will began to relax despite his paranoia. 

Predictably, that was when news of Abel resurfaced. It was a shock to see Abel’s face splashed on the national news as well as other media outlets. The news had a field day when it was discovered that Abel had killed his wife and in-laws. A heavy weight settled in his stomach when he read the news. 

Maybe he could’ve prevented their deaths if he had only taken care of Abel before he escalated? 

But no. That was a dangerous thought to go on. It wasn’t his fault that Abel decided to murder his family. 

Still, he had to keep up with the news. Since Abel was caught red-handed, there was enough evidence to prosecute him. Will followed the trials closely, only letting out a sigh of relief when Abel was sentenced for life at the Baltimore State’s Hospital for the Criminally Insane. 

But there, again, the universe decided to throw more curveballs at him. 

Word got out about Abel’s escape while he was being transported to the BSHCI. Will set the newspaper down when he read the news, his face grim as he realized there was only one way to end this. 

If he couldn’t trust the law enforcement to do their job properly, it was hardly his fault that he had to take matters into his hand.

It wasn’t easy to track down a fugitive who was clever enough to outsmart the police, but Will had his empathy on his side. 

Once he’d decided on his course, it was glaringly obvious what he needed to do. Poring over the articles which had covered Abel’s murder scene as well as the court proceedings, he retraced Abel’s motives and thinking from there. 

Several articles detailed some nurses’ complaints on Abel’s temper while he was still employed at Johns Hopkins, and Will belatedly remembered the nurse who had attended to him that one night so many years ago when Abel had beaten him.

It was easy to find Abel then. When he did, Will wasn’t surprised that Abel had returned to Johns Hopkins.

His extra mirror neurons had come in useful, after all.

“Were you planning on lying low once you’ve killed Doctor Carruthers?” Will asked, eyes intent on Abel as the doctor was rummaging through Carruthers’ office. “Or were you going to kill all the other doctors who’ve painted you as a psychopath?”

Abel stilled his movements when he heard Will’s voice, though he smiled genially at Will once he’d seen him at the doorway. His hair was in disarray and he was dressed in a nurse’s scrubs with a mask over his face. A useful disguise. One which Will had opted for as well when he broke into the hospital wing where the doctors’ offices were situated.

“Will,” Abel drawled. “Fancy seeing you here. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Care to share what you’re looking for at”—Will checked his watch—“three in the morning?”

Abel stared at him for a moment, tilting his head. “I think you know why. I am curious though, how did you figure it out?”

Will smirked, putting his hands inside the pocket of his pants as he took a few steps inside the office. “I knew your ego wouldn’t stand for such ‘slanderous’ views of what type of killer you are. I figured you’d go for Carruthers first, though. You were colleagues, weren’t you? I remember you telling me you couldn’t stand him.”

“My, my,” Abel replied, chuckling. “Aren’t you a smart one? See, this was why I liked you, Will.”

Will hummed. “I don’t like the fate of the people you ‘liked’, Abel.” He affected a sigh. “So what are you doing? Guessing you need to locate Carruthers? Thought this office would yield some records? You’d have a better chance by breaking into the HR’s office for his address.”

Abel chuckled again. “I would if it wasn’t for the security cameras. You’d think they’d spend more on security for the doctors, but no, it’s HR that gets special treatment.” He sighed theatrically before straightening his stance. “Well, Will. I can only assume you’re here under some misguided sense of revenge.”

Will laughed bitterly, one of his hands curling around the stolen scalpel in his pocket. “It would be a lie to say that I didn’t want payback for what you did to me. But honestly? I think I’m just helping the police to take out the trash.”

“Really?” Abel frowned. “All I did was knock up your pretty face once, Will. I hardly think I deserved such treatment.”

“You murdered three people, Abel,” Will reminded him dryly. 

“Hmm. Fair point.” Widening his stance, Abel’s eyes took Will in carefully, his gaze assessing. “So I suppose there’s only one way to end this. It’s either you or me, Will.”

“You know what,” Will snarled as he brandished his weapon, “I think I like my chances.”

As with Ingram, Will had taken care to dispose of all of the possible evidence he could’ve left behind when he’d killed the man. 

Taking a degree in forensics had its uses, as he found out, and he made full use of the knowledge he had in his favor. Ingram’s murder had been sloppy in hindsight. It was a good thing that Ingram’s case was only handled by the local police instead of the FBI. He was also lucky that it happened at a time when the internet and social media were not yet a thing to be contended with. 

He was almost shocked at how dispassionate he felt about the aftermath of his second murder. Truthfully, killing Abel had little to do with revenge when he thought about it, though he may have led himself to believe that initially.

Killing Abel had felt… good.

He knew that he would be on a slippery slope soon if he allowed himself to kill once more. Sure, both Ingram and Abel had deserved it, but what’s to stop him from killing anyone whom he felt deserved justice?

It was probably a good thing that he had decided to isolate himself, in any case. There was just too much danger of falling into a mindset he might regret later. 

Will laid low and kept to himself after that, even more so than usual. 

Though he minimized his interactions with others, he couldn’t resist visiting Peter now and then when he felt like his solitude was taking a toll on him. On the darker days when Will felt particularly lonely, he was always tempted to drink more than he should. He had taken to putting his dad’s urn near the whiskey cabinet to remind himself of the repercussions, and it worked somewhat to stave off the need for a drink. When it became too much, Peter was only a phone call away, and that managed to keep his loneliness at bay for some time until the cycle repeats.

Almost another year passed in this manner, and then Will met Tobias Budge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting closer to the end of the interludes... hope you're all still here with me XD


	13. interlude part IV: the fall

His meeting with Tobias was accidental.

Tobias’s car had broken down near Wolf Trap as he was making his way back from a performing arts center nearby. Will had come upon him on his journey home, having been out late after a few drinks with Peter. The stretch of road where Tobias's car had broken down was particularly empty at the time, as most people were safely ensconced at their home by then.

Thinking nothing of it, Will stopped his car by the roadside to help, or at the very least offer some assistance as the man looked as if he certainly needed it.

“You all right?” Will asked as he approached the car. His nose twitched and he peeked into the hood of the car engine, his eyebrows rising when he recognized the strong smell. “Car trouble? I think you might need to get your engine belts checked.”

The man had been watching him silently as he approached, and his expression settled on intrigued at Will’s diagnosis. His eyes took Will in from the top of his head to his toe. “Am I right in assuming that you’re a mechanic?” 

Will looked down at his appearance, huffing. “Fair enough, I guess I look like one. But yes, as it happens. You might want to get your car into the workshop to have it looked over. Can you start your car?”

The man nodded, and Will noticed for the first time how dead his eyes looked. He almost winced from the realization, viscerally reminded of Ingram with the way those eyes stared at him curiously. 

“I was calling my mechanic,” the man said, holding up the phone in his hand. “He might be asleep by now, or I suppose he could be busy socializing. I may be able to drive it still, but I didn’t want to risk a breakdown while I’m driving. I would like to avoid an accident, for obvious reasons.”

Will nodded. “Yeah, seems smart. Uh, well, I could have a look if you want?” At the calculating look at the man’s eyes, he raised his hands. “You’re under no obligation to say yes, I’m not looking to cheat you out of your money or anything. Just that the road out here is pretty empty by this time, so you might want to call a tow truck or something if you’re not confident with your chances.”

“I have to drive back to Baltimore by tonight,” the man replied, sighing.

“Oh, yeah, that doesn’t sound safe,” Will said, wincing. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, of course,” the man said, smiling. “I appreciate it. I’ll take you up on your offer. Maybe you can let me know if it’s safe to drive in this condition until I reach Baltimore, or if I should call for a tow truck instead?”

“Sure,” Will replied easily. “Uh, I’m Will, by the way.”

“Tobias,” the man said with an inclined nod. “Feel free to have a look.”

Nodding, Will rolled up his sleeves and set to work. It was slow going with the relative darkness. Tobias was lucky that Will had come upon him since he had all the necessary expertise and tools to look into the problem should it come to it. It was silent for several long minutes before Will confirmed his initial diagnosis.

“So your car overheated when the belt came loose,” Will told him, “but in the meantime, I think you can still drive back to Baltimore. I’d recommend keeping to a safe speed until you reach home. You’d better get your mechanic to check it as soon as he can, though, or you risk a real breakdown.”

Tobias nodded, his eyes fixed on Will. “Of course, thank you, Will.” He seemed to be contemplating something before he spoke next. “I’m sorry, this might sound a bit odd, but I couldn’t help but notice your hands while you were working.”

Will raised his eyes and waited for Tobias to continue.

“Do you play any instruments, by any chance?”

“Oh,” Will laughed. “I was wondering what you meant. I play the piano, on and off.” Off Tobias’s pleasantly surprised look, he grinned. “Guess you didn’t expect a mere mechanic to have hidden depths, huh?”

Tobias gave him a polite smile. “Oh, I didn’t mean to insinuate that, but I suppose you could tell I was thinking it.”

Will huffed. “I’m used to it. Didn’t think you could tell that just from looking at my hands though.” He tried not to think why the man was staring at him while he was working.

The polite smile seemed more genuine now, Tobias’s eyes crinkling slightly. It was the first honest expression Will had seen so far. “I teach children and adults how to play instruments, the piano amongst them. It’s easy to spot the signs when you’re used to it.”

“Hmm, okay,” Will hummed, unconvinced. “Anyway, hopefully, you won’t have any problems getting back to Baltimore.”

“Yes, thank you,” Tobias said, nodding. “How much do I owe you?”

“Oh, it was nothing, I just had a look—”

“I insist.”

Will huffed. “Seriously, it was nothing.”

Tobias tilted his head. “Then perhaps I can repay you in another way? I own a strings shop in Baltimore, and I also offer tuning services if you need them.”

Will shrugged. “Uh, that’s a nice offer… I think the cost of tuning my piano wouldn’t commensurate with what I just did, though.”

“Oh, it would be no trouble,” Tobias insisted, giving Will another smile. “If you could give me your number, I’m sure we can arrange something.”

Shrugging, Will gave his number to Tobias, the man keying it into his phone and giving him a call to make sure that Will had his number. He made up an excuse to return to his car afterward, wishing Tobias luck before he drove away. He only let out a sigh of relief when the sight of Tobias disappeared from his rear-view mirror.

He had a sinking feeling that he may have inadvertently come across another killer.

Tobias made good on his word, though Will was still surprised at the speed of it. It only took the man two days to call Will for the ostensible reason of thanking him again for his services. Though Will tried to wave it off again, the other man was very insistent on reciprocating. And so Will found himself going to Tobias’s shop in Baltimore a few days later.

The Chordophone String Shop turned out to be a nice establishment, and Will spent some time admiring the instruments inside while Tobias happily talked about his business of supplying the strings to the various orchestra companies around the Baltimore area. 

“Was that why you were in Wolf Trap a few days ago?” Will asked, curious despite himself.

“Yes, I had some business there, and then business turned into a dinner conversation. You know how it goes.”

As it was, Will didn’t, though he kept that to himself. Running his hands over the piano keys, he thought that no harm could come from entertaining the man for a few weeks if he did get a free tuning out of it. Tobias looked like he was just enjoying the attention of someone who would listen to him willingly, and well, Will could play to that.

“Must be a lucrative business, supplying your strings and services to the whole of Baltimore.”

Tobias’s laugh sounded flattered. “Well, there’s only so many clients I could afford to take at one time. I’m very attached to the Baltimore Opera House myself; they’ve been my biggest supporter ever since I started offering my services. I always get a front seat for their shows as a way to show their appreciation.”

“Oh, what’s that like? I’ve never really been to an opera.” Will sat down at the piano bench then, settling his hands on the keys before tilting his head at Tobias. “May I?”

A nod and a hum. “Maybe you can accompany me sometimes if you’re interested. I could let you know which shows are worth watching. The last time I went to one, one of the players was so out of tune it was all I could do not to get up and leave.”

Will paused. “Maybe I shouldn’t play your piano after all,” he said with a laugh. “You might just ask me to leave the store.”

“Oh no, feel free,” Tobias said, smiling. “I only judge those who dared to call themselves a professional musician while playing like an amateur.” 

“Good to know,” Will said dryly. He did play a simple melody then, one that he had learned from some online video classes. The piano sounded much better than Will’s beaten secondhand one, and his hands flew over the key until it stopped on the last note.

He turned to Tobias with a smile. “So, how did I do for an amateur?”

Tobias took the jibe in stride, smiling placidly. “You play admirably for an amateur,” he teased. “Would you like to have a look at the catgut strings I told you about?” Tobias asked then, his eyes assessing.

Will raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like a euphemism.”

Tobias chuckled. “I do have some lying around. I just finished making them for a special order.”

“Oh, you make them yourself?” 

“Yes, I can attest to the higher quality, if I can tout my own horn.”

“You really are just talking in euphemisms at this point, Mr. Budge.”

“Please, call me Tobias.”

Will hummed. “Sure, I’d love to have a behind-the-scenes look.”

Smiling, Tobias led him down into a basement where he produced his strings. It was an interesting experience, seeing the strings laid out to be dried as Tobias explained the process of how his strings were made. The basement was a large space, though Tobias kept them sequestered in a corner of his workshop. Will listened as attentively as he could, but he could only take so much of such a niche conversation before his attention wandered to the other area of the basement. Before long, Tobias’s words died out and he took them back upstairs, locking the basement door behind him before he ushered Will back to the shop where he offered Will some tea.

Their conversation flowed well enough for another half an hour, though Will was itching to head home by the time his visit ended. There was just something about Tobias that raised his hackles. The idea of breaking off the acquaintance once Tobias had helped him with the piano tuning was beginning to sound more sensible the longer he spent some time with the other man. He was pleasant enough, or at least he knew how to act pleasant, but there was a layer of plasticity in his solicitous behavior that Will could see through, especially having dealt with someone like Clark Ingram.

 _Birds of a feather,_ he thought grimly.

Though his “relationship” with Tobias started in rather unusual circumstances, Will had to admit that he enjoyed himself. 

Granted, they’d only met each other for the second time (not counting the whole “my car broke down” situation) at one of the coffee chains in Baltimore, near to Tobias’s shop. 

The two of them met up at Tobias’s invitation and they ended up having an interesting conversation, but Will didn’t reveal much of his past. Tobias liked to talk — a lot. Will found out more about the orchestra and stage productions in the last few weeks than he would have otherwise. Still, it was pretty interesting to listen to a world he wasn’t a part of.

It was beginning to look like Tobias was looking for friendship rather than true companionship, and well… that was easier to deal with. There was no expectation from friendship, at least not this kind. 

Tobias presented his offer to tune his piano again, but Will demurred and made some excuse or another. He was still wary of bringing anyone else to Wolf Trap, and he didn’t want to invite the man over if he was just going to be murdered for it. His house was particularly useful for a murder to take place, so secluded from anywhere else. Maybe Beau hadn’t intended for it to be that way initially, but there it was.

In place of that offer, Tobias then invited him to a charity gala at one of the new galleries opening in Baltimore. Despite his reluctance to socialize, he did eventually capitulate to the man’s request to join him at an opera. Maybe it would do him good to see the outside world after keeping himself isolated from any sort of connections. It had been years after Abel, after all.

(Maybe Will was just so lonely that the extended offer of friendship was beginning to look enticing. Was his standards slipping? Well, there was nothing to it, since he’d agreed to meet Tobias, _so pay attention, Graham. Get your act together._ )

On the evening of the gala, Will put on a nice rented suit so he could appear presentable, and Tobias had looked at him in approval when he arrived at the gallery later. 

“Will, you made it,” Tobias said, eyes shining. The man’s emotions were becoming more and more obvious to Will the more time he spent with him, but sometimes Will wondered if he was projecting. 

“I made it,” Will agreed, giving Tobias a strained smile. His glance swiveled to the man who was standing beside Tobias; from the looks of it, he was possibly trying to murder Will with his glare. “Uh… A friend of yours?” he asked Tobias.

The man spoke before Tobias could. “I’ve been Tobias’s friend for a really long time.”

“Franklyn,” Tobias said, sighing. “We’ve known each other for two years. You make it sound as if we’ve been childhood friends.”

Franklyn looked chastened, though he didn’t dial down the hateful glare he threw Will’s way.

“Uh, nice to meet you,” Will said. He didn’t offer his hand for a handshake; he doubted Franklyn would appreciate it. 

Franklyn didn’t answer, but he did sniff derisively in Will’s general direction before he turned to Tobias with a smile. “Well, never mind. Let’s get to our seats, I want to see if Doc— if we have the best seats in the house.”

Tobias’s mouth curled into a small smirk. “Oh, is Doctor Lecter here? Was that why you invited me to this particular gala, Franklyn?”

Franklyn’s smile faltered at the derision in Tobias’s tone. “I thought you’d like to meet him.”

“Hmm. I admit I’m rather curious since you’ve mentioned him so many times. Well, let’s go in, shall we? It’s getting rather cold out.”

The three of them made their way inside and got to their seats without further incident. Will listened silently to Tobias and Franklyn’s conversation when Franklyn pointed Lecter out to Tobias, whispering excitedly. Tobias didn’t look impressed, but he humored Franklyn in that cool manner of his, which seemed to mollify Franklyn a bit.

Will only looked on in silence, amused in part to see all this play out. 

The other part of him noted how Tobias treated Franklyn, which soured his impressions of Tobias somewhat. Franklyn was the sort of man who looked up to certain people and befriended them to emulate some of that “greatness”. It’s unfortunate that Franklyn had chosen someone like Tobias, who looked as if he enjoyed the idolization way too much and was using it to keep his “friend” in line. 

That put some things into perspective. Maybe Tobias was doing the same thing to Will; maybe that was why he liked to have Will around. He wanted the people around him to idolize him, as a twisted form of nourishment. Will’s mouth curled at the thought. 

As for Franklyn… It looked as if Franklyn was harboring some sort of crush on this Lecter guy. Will couldn’t see what the fuss was about, but that probably wasn’t a fair assessment — he’d only gotten to look at the back of the man’s head, after all.

The lights in the gallery hall were turned down eventually, and all of the thoughts percolating inside Will’s head were set aside as he immersed himself in the performance playing out on the raised stage. It was a novel experience even if he didn’t understand a word of the aria. Some things were better experienced in real life, however, and he appreciated the sheer emotions that were put on display when one performance slid into another.

By the end of it, he was surprised to realize that his eyes had fallen shut while he’d enjoyed the music piece. Tobias’s hand was on his shoulder — that must have been what had broken him out of his stupor. Around him, the patrons of the gala were talking with each other in an excited tone, most of them rising from their seats and making their way somewhere.

“You look as if you enjoyed that,” Tobias said in a hushed whisper, a small smile playing at his lips. 

Will swallowed the lump in his throat. “It was… different,” he rasped. “I’ve never attended this kind of thing.”

“I’m glad you appreciated it, then. It wasn’t the best, unfortunately. One man stood out for his terrible performance, but the rest of the orchestra players made up for it.” Tobias smiled. “The party is moving out into the gallery now. We should join them.”

Will merely nodded and followed Tobias, Franklyn leading the way. It looked as if Franklyn was looking for something — or someone. Will’s suspicion was confirmed when Franklyn practically beamed once he spotted Lecter, the portly man immediately going over to the doctor to announce himself.

Will could barely contain his secondhand embarrassment at watching the scene play out in front of him. Lecter was conversing with a woman when Franklyn intruded on them, and the two of them looked at Franklyn with a mixture of surprise and disguised disdain. Will had thought he was horrible at social interactions, but it seemed that Franklyn could give him a run for his money.

Still, the two of them had been much too proper to show such overt opinions on Franklyn’s way of crashing their party of two, and they admitted the three intruders into their little circle after the “proper” introductions were made. 

As far as first impressions go, Will wasn’t impressed by anyone in attendance. 

Irene Komeda was probably the only one with the most class in their assembly since she was the one who recovered first from Franklyn’s faux pas. Her shrewd eyes missed nothing as they swept over Franklyn, Tobias, and Will’s faces as if trying to glean their thoughts. She was all skin and bones in her getup, but she was dressed so elegantly and so expensively that no one would ever doubt that she was part of the Baltimore elite. 

Hannibal Lecter _(oh, sorry,_ Doctor _Hannibal Lecter)_ looked like the typical aristocrat you’d meet at this kind of event. He looked and played the part of a nobleman so well that Will wouldn’t be surprised if he was one in a previous life. He was unfairly good-looking, and he has a charismatic personality; a combination of enigmatic and alluring that would have anyone craving for his attention. No wonder Franklyn had gravitated to the man.

 _Some people have all the luck,_ Will thought bitterly. _Okay, get a grip Graham, it’s not his fault he’s born rich, just like how it’s not your fault that Dad died and you had to kill Ingram._

Will was startled out of his observations when Tobias had put an arm around his waist when introducing him to the party. It was a discomfiting feeling, made more so when Tobias introduced him as if he was a pet or a… companion. 

Tobias had never indicated that he’d wanted anything sexual out of their relationship. Will had thought that Tobias just wanted a friend who would see and praise the self-aggrandizement images of himself, and Will had been happy to supply that as long as it didn’t kill him in the long run.

The proprietary hand around him felt like a claim, a gesture to warn off others. 

Which was weird, to say the least. Who the hell would even want someone like Will? 

(Will noted Franklyn’s snippy aside about Will being Tobias’s “friend”, which made him laugh internally.)

He barely paid attention to the small talk playing out around him, only talking when he was spoken to. This wasn’t the sort of thing he was used to, though he was trying not to show it. It didn’t escape his notice that Lecter had appraised him earlier, though, and he felt as if the man had found him wanting. Apparently, these types of socialites could smell a rented suit from a mile away.

Will said as much, his eyes flashing to catch Lecter’s when he did so. “I’m not exactly the kind of person who usually attends this sort of gala. I’ve seen the way some people have been eyeing me and my rental suit all day.”

If Lecter was surprised by the observation, he didn’t show it. Will thought there was a hint of a smile there, but the moment was gone when Tobias spoke. Franklyn, not to be outdone, had spoken over everyone else to refocus attention to himself when it looked as if they were going to be talking about Will again.

For his part, Will was grateful when Lecter cut the conversation short. The three of them milled around the gallery for a while before Will excused himself, citing a burgeoning headache. Tobias had looked disappointed while Franklyn looked triumphant at the thought that he’d get to enjoy the rest of the evening without Will. 

He had enough of high society for a moment, and Franklyn’s overt dislike of him was beginning to wear on him. Sure, he’d met people who hated him before, but no one hated him on the basis of Will being friends with Tobias.

Of all the people Franklyn could have chosen to be jealous of, it was someone like Will. 

If only Franklyn knew.

It wasn’t until a few days later that Will heard of a murder where the body of a musician was found at the Baltimore Opera House. A news website had given out the particulars of how Douglas Wilson’s throat had been torn open, his body mutilated in a grotesque display of a human cello.

The pieces fell into place then, and he almost laughed at his rotten luck. 

Tobias’s profession, his homemade catgut strings, and his workshop in that dark basement painted a very vivid image that it was easy for Will’s empathy to string everything together. 

Will hadn’t planned on another murder under his belt, but maybe he could make an exception in this.

The morning after his discovery, he dropped by the Chordophone String Shop in the hopes that he could get some more details to confirm his suspicions that Tobias was indeed the String Killer. (Freddie Lounds should hire someone to give her a catchier moniker for these killers.)

Tobias looked gratified by the visit, his eyes warming at Will’s presence in his shop. He’d even invited Will to look at the strings he was working on previously, still drying out after the tanning session. So that was useful in a way, in that Tobias’s particular skill set with the strings was pretty much on par with Will's suspicion that the String Killer was someone who worked with instruments, and one who knew it intimately. Based on Tobias's explanation, he'd only acquired the latest "supplies" for these particular strings in the last few days.

 _It doesn’t get any more intimate than this,_ Will thought when he saw the twisted strings laid out to dry. He'd never thought he'd have to wonder if catgut strings were really made from animals’ intestines. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about. But here he was. 

Their little tête-à-tête was interrupted by a customer after Tobias plied him with tea and a solo performance for him (which Will could have done without, but he obliged anyway). Will was surprised when the visitor turned out to be none other than Hannibal Lecter — the weird man who had looked at Will as if he was an interloper at the gala a few days back. 

And yeah, maybe Will _was_ an interloper; someone who didn’t belong in their little elite bubble. But that didn’t make the judgment sting less. So Will merely watched in silence when Hannibal’s eyes laid on him, the man looking similarly startled at his presence. 

If any observations were coming from Hannibal, he didn’t verbalize it. Will could guess what he was thinking, though, from the way his eyes took in Will’s appearance. Silently judging. He smirked to show that he was onto the doctor’s scrutiny, but he otherwise kept silent. 

Will listened to Tobias and Hannibal’s interaction silently from where he was seated, trying to ignore the way Hannibal stared at him. Was he so offensive to look at that the man was practically ogling him? 

At any rate, it didn’t matter. Hannibal left soon after and Tobias sat down with him at the piano again, presumably to continue his one-man performance to a (seemingly) willing audience.

“I do have to go,” Will said, rising from his seat and ignoring Tobias’s disappointed expression. “Thanks so much for the piano sheets, I’ll give them a go later.” He’d bought the sheets under the pretense of coming to see Tobias, but as far as lies go, this was somewhat true. Will had been practicing on his piano for the past few weeks. 

“A pity.” Tobias looked at him for a moment before breaking into what he probably thought was a charming smile. It would probably be charming if Will didn’t know what he had done to Douglas Wilson and what was in his shop basement. “Would you like to come over for dinner tonight?”

Will paused for a minute, his mind working rapidly to work out if tonight would be too soon to act.

But he’d waited so long to take out the trash when it came to Abel Gideon, and look what happened to that. Abel managed to kill three innocent people before he was caught. If he waited too long, Tobias might get reckless and kill more innocent people.

So tonight it is, then.

That was how he found himself sitting across Tobias at his dining table later that evening.

 _A third date of some sort,_ Will thought sardonically. 

The first had been the gala, which he didn’t think was a date, but something had set the man off for him to become territorial that night. Their second was this morning when Tobias insisted on “serenading” him with a musical piece. As far as dates went, it was actually kind of romantic (though Will would never admit it), except for the fact that _“he’s a serial killer, he’s a serial killer”_ kept going through Will’s mind while Tobias was playing Chopin.

Which brought him to the third date. He doubted Tobias would survive this one if all goes according to plan. 

_At least I don’t have to worry about putting out,_ Will thought wryly.

Come to think of it, Abel didn’t survive past his third “date” either. That was when they’d been making out before he’d punched Will, so good riddance to that asshole.

He was going to gain a reputation if he kept this up. 

Will’s attention was brought back to the present when Tobias offered another drink once dinner was finished. He shook his head, noting his glass was still half full while Tobias was nursing his drink. 

He couldn’t drink right now; he needed a clear head. 

“You’re the String Killer,” Will said, his tone flat and sure. No better time than the present to just jump right into the deep end. He never did have much time for the theatrics. 

For his part, Tobias looked stunned at the words. A first for him. Will had never seen that expression on Tobias before, whenever the man allowed him to see anything at all.

“I’m sorry?” Tobias replied after ten full seconds of silence.

Will gave him a brittle smile. “I saw what you did to Wilson. I thought you’d be more subtle than that.”

Something in Tobias changed, even though his expression didn’t shift. There was a rigidity to his movements that Will noted quietly. The man was poised for an attack, or maybe he was getting ready to attack Will.

Well. Nothing to it, then. Will pressed on. “I knew you didn’t like the way he played the last time we went to that performance, but I didn’t think you’d transform him into a cello. A bit too on the nose, don’t you think? I expected more nuance, more… musical notes from your hands.”

Tobias let out a soft huff, then. “You’re not being very subtle, either.”

“Because it’s not my MO.” Will shrugged. “What were you hoping to achieve with that display?”

There was a long silence where Tobias was obviously going through an internal struggle. It looked as if he was assessing Will in a new light, and well, Will couldn’t blame these hapless men for not seeing him for who he was until it hit them too late. They had underestimated him, and he’d used it to his advantage.

“That cello was originally going to be a different man,” Tobias said at length, looking settled once more. His gaze was trained on Will, challenging. 

“Oh?”

“Do you remember the man we met at the gala performance a week ago?”

Will frowned, trying to rack through his brain to figure out who Tobias meant. Only one notable person came to mind — someone who Tobias had shown a strong interest in when they were there.

“Hannibal Lecter?”

“Precisely.” Tobias’s smile was measured. “You see more than I give you credit for.”

Will snorted. “Thanks, I think.”

Tobias’s fingers drummed against the stem of the wineglass, his gaze calculating. “I wanted to display Doctor Lecter’s body and was preparing to do so. I changed my mind when I came upon a discovery.”

“What sort of discovery?”

Tobias smiled. “That’s for you to find out if you ever do. But more importantly. What do you plan to use this information for?”

Will bared his teeth in a mocking smile. “That’s for you to find out, isn’t it?”

Tobias chuckled. “I’ve underestimated you.”

“No shit. You thought I was just another one of your fans, don’t you? Franklyn and I are the same in your eyes.”

“I’m beginning to see that you’re much more than that, Will.” That calculating gaze was back. “I don’t think you’re going to the police with this. You don’t have any proof, just conjectures. So you’re telling me this because you think you want to blackmail me, or… you’d like to entice me.”

Scoffing at that, Will shook his head. “Entice you to what?”

“I see the same darkness in you, Will,” Tobias murmured. “You keep it well-hidden, but I see now that you’re trying to deny yourself. I had been wondering for a while if you would ever unleash your potential. That you chose to approach this with me meant that you’re looking for… a partnership. One that is different from the one that we currently enjoy. Perhaps you’d like me to be your mentor in this?”

Will rolled his eyes. “You know, I always took you for a narcissist, but this is going far and beyond that.”

“Well, I’m confused…” Tobias tilted his head slowly. The action looked unnerving with how preternatural it was. “What exactly are you hoping to accomplish by revealing your cards?”

Will shrugged. “Maybe I’m letting you know because I’m tired of this charade. I suspected you were a killer when we first met, but I didn’t think you’d prove me right so quickly. I think your display was your way of… courting someone. A serenade. Someone who shared the same hobby, the same… appetite.”

Tobias was listening intently, so much so that he was hardly blinking. “Impressive.”

“Not as impressive as your skills, I’m sure. What you did with the vocal cords was something else.”

A considering pause. “You gleaned all these from photos of the crime scene?”

“Never mind that. Who were you trying to impress?”

“Hmm. The display was inspired by someone I’ve admired for a long time. Let’s just say that I had a hunch, and I’m trying to prove that hunch with this display.”

Will scoffed. “So this serenade was an invitation to be a killing partner?”

“Something like that.” Tobias smiled. “But I didn’t think this would be the outcome. I’m very impressed, Will. Your insights are peculiar. No one would be able to interpret my message like you. Can you not see what an advantageous partnership we could make?”

“No thanks,” Will snorted. “You’re reckless, Tobias. I don’t think this person you admire would appreciate your display.”

Tobias’s eyes hardened at Will’s words. “And you presume to know this because?”

Will sighed and leaned back in his seat. “You’ve killed before. We’ve established this, yes? But you’ve never killed like this. You’ve never displayed a body before, and you admitted yourself that this was inspired by someone. So your performance: you’re the secret admirer performing this serenade to someone who shared your passion, your skills. You’re… emulating this killer, then, somehow, through this display.”

Will’s mind ran through the possible candidate of Tobias’s so-called potential partner. For someone like Tobias to become so reckless, it would have to be one of the big fishes. So it would be one of the notorious serial killers who have yet to be caught and one who would appreciate artistic displays of the victims— 

Will let out a startled laughter. There was only one killer who fit that description. “Oh my God, you’re trying to serenade the Chesapeake Ripper?”

For his part, Tobias simply looked amazed at Will’s deductions. “Will. You’re truly something else. We would make an unstoppable team.”

Will snorted again. It didn’t escape his notice that Tobias didn’t deny his conclusion. “Like I said: not interested. You just want someone to stroke your killer ego. It was entertaining for a few days until you became sloppy.”

Tobias frowned. “I admit I’m disappointed, then. I thought I’d found someone who’d seen me.”

“I see you alright,” Will said dryly. “You’re not going to stop here, are you?” 

“You already know the answer to that.”

“Well then, I think this conversation is over.” 

What happened after was fast and almost brutal, but Will had come prepared. He disarmed Tobias soon enough once he’d managed to stick a syringe of sedatives into Tobias’s neck. He had the element of surprise in his favor, and he made quick work of Tobias’s body, taking care to leave no trace of what had happened at Tobias’s house.

He would need to act fast. His alibi would depend on it. 

Perhaps Tobias’s display had been more impulsive than Will had thought. 

He had tried to justify his actions in the last several days, telling himself that Tobias was dangerous and would have killed many more people if he hadn’t gotten to the man first. In that, he didn’t think that he was wrong. He knew that Tobias was the String Killer after all, and it was unlikely that the police or even the FBI was going to catch him, with how incompetent they have been thus far.

Now, he wondered if he’d thought his plan through. While it was true that he had killed Tobias in self-defense (sort of), he wasn’t the type of killer who would display his kills. That wasn’t his pathology. It had spooked him to realize just what he had done by displaying Tobias’s body at the opera house. 

Had he immersed himself too long inside these serial killers’ minds, so much so that he was beginning to act like one?

It was a disconcerting thought.

Made much more disconcerting when he had caught Hannibal Lecter’s eye after that. 

Will cursed himself at his luck. He thought he’d managed to extract himself out of the Tobias situation pretty cleanly until Hannibal had showed up at the church after Tobias’s funeral to talk to him. 

He’d played it cool, however, and tried to ease his nerves by convincing himself that Hannibal knew nothing; he couldn’t have. He’d covered his tracks pretty well, or so he had thought. 

Besides, if there were any leads on the case, he was sure Freddie Lounds would have plastered it all over her website by now. As it was, the FBI hadn’t even discovered what Tobias Budge was doing in his basement. (Will wasn’t surprised at the incompetence, but he _was_ slightly disappointed. What was the FBI even doing?)

So he agreed to meet the doctor for a “session”. What’s the worst that could happen?

The first session with Hannibal Lecter only served to confirm Will’s suspicion that Hannibal was exactly the kind of man he would never associate with unless forced to. 

His fancy office was right in the middle of uptown Baltimore. Will’s secondhand car looked out of place in the upscale neighborhood he’d found himself in. 

Hannibal was one of the “upper echelons”, the sort of people Will and Beau Graham had worked for when Will was younger and Beau was still sober. Will didn’t hold any good opinions when he had to deal with them, especially after he’d found out that Beau had died while working at one of those “fancy piers”. He held no great animosity against rich people, no more so than most people, but he didn’t think he’d be fraternizing with one of them.

Well. He just needed to convince Hannibal that he was fine and walk out of there within an hour. He would show Hannibal that he was nothing but a man who was saddened by his partner’s death and be done with it, end of story. 

Or so he had thought.

He’d expected more or less the same shtick most of the therapists he’d been saddled with would pull with him when he sat across the man. Sitting down in that therapist chair brought up unfavorable associations, naturally, though he tamped that down and focused on handling Hannibal. 

Despite his misgivings about Hannibal and his elite background (so different from his own), Will found himself warming up to the man before long. Hannibal was unorthodox with his practice, though of course he couldn’t help but show interest when Will mentioned his empathy. Still, as far as his experiences with psychiatrists went, Hannibal was actually making the session bearable.

And then he found out that Hannibal was a profiler for the BAU. 

The files were sitting innocuously on Hannibal’s desk. They were on top of a stack of documents, so likely the doctor was getting ready to leave after his last patient before Will had unexpectedly descended on him.

A fortuitous discovery then, and one that he thought he could use to his advantage. Having an insider’s knowledge of what was going on with the FBI’s investigations could only be useful in the long run. It would let him know if the FBI were on the right track. And he could only do that if he continued to meet with Hannibal.

No one could blame him for agreeing to a second meeting, could they?

Will was as surprised as anyone when his relationship with Hannibal grew into something more within two weeks. 

It seemed as if Hannibal was enjoying his company, or he was just very good at giving the appearance of it at any rate. Their second session started with an informal drink, which helped Will to loosen himself somewhat though he didn’t drink too much. Wouldn’t want the drink to addle his senses.

Talking to Hannibal was unexpectedly easy. The man gave off the appearance of someone who was rarely perturbed by anything, and he had yet to berate Will for any of his darker thoughts throughout their short acquaintance. He was surprised at it initially, but Hannibal’s demeanor remained unflappable even when Will voiced out his stream of thoughts on the serial killers the FBI was hunting. Most of the psychiatrists he knew would be writing up a missive to get him locked up if he dared to utter half the things he’d confided with Hannibal.

Though he enjoyed their conversations, he took care not to stray too far into personal territory. He needed to play it safe this early in the game. It wouldn’t do for Hannibal to find out just what he did to Tobias. The FBI might still be stumbling in the dark as to Tobias’s and Will’s identities, but Hannibal was more perceptive than Will might have bargained for.

Despite his wariness, Will had to admit that Hannibal was very charming when he wanted to be. Not a surprise, he supposed, considering the man’s background. Will was sure that Hannibal had the entire Baltimore elites _and_ the FBI wrapped around his finger somehow. No one would think some snotty rich person like Hannibal could be dangerous, at least not in the way serial killers could be.

And, well, if Hannibal’s charm was the reason he accepted the man’s invitation to dinner at his house for their “sessions”, no one needed to know that except Will, did they?

_Does this count as a third date, or the first?_

The thought came unbidden while Will was waiting for Hannibal to usher him inside the house. Maybe it wasn’t even a date, but how else to explain the doctor’s invitation to dinner? He doubted that Hannibal had ever asked Franklyn, for example, to dinner at his house in lieu of an actual therapy session.

If this _was_ a date, which Will was still kind of 50/50 about, Will decided that it would be the first one. Hannibal would only have two strikes left after tonight before Will decided how this current relationship was going to end. _If_ this was a date, of course.

Hannibal’s residence was something else. After seeing what his office was like, Will wasn’t surprised when he saw what Hannibal’s house looked like. The house was needlessly lavish and _large,_ considering Hannibal was the only one living in it. _Rich people,_ Will snorted.

As promised, dinner was an entire performance, with Hannibal as the main act. If Will had thought Hannibal was charming before this, the Hannibal before him now was putting on some extra charms. Hannibal seemed determined to impress him somehow. He didn’t know the reason for that (seriously, what do these people see in Will?), but he allowed himself to be charmed anyway.

The meal itself was delicious, much to Will’s surprise. Was there anything that this man didn’t excel at? He was reassessing his opinion of the man yet again. Hannibal was talented in many aspects. By Will’s observations: (a) Hannibal was a former surgeon and was now a psychiatrist with a successful practice, (b) he's supremely talented in the culinary arts if tonight’s dinner was anything to go by, (c) he's artistic judging by the sketches Will briefly saw on Hannibal’s desk in the office (all of it signed by the doctor himself), and (d) he played a harpsichord or so he had claimed when he came into Tobias’s shop that one time (of course, the jury’s still out if the doctor plays well or he just merely played to satisfy his curiosity for the arts — Will thought it likely to be the former). 

So. Hannibal was severely out of Will’s league. What else was new? 

The question remained then: what was Hannibal doing with someone like Will?

He asked as much during dinner. With someone like Hannibal, it was easier to go for a direct attack rather than try to stoop to his metaphorical level.

“So tell me, Doctor Lecter, why are you _really_ doing this?”

Hannibal hesitated to answer. 

Will wondered if the man was trying to come up with a feasible excuse. No one else had gone to this extent for him; no one had tried to wine and dine him except if they wanted something out of him. That was how it was for Abel, and so it was for Tobias. 

“I’ve mentioned before that I find you interesting,” Hannibal said eventually. 

Will shut down that excuse fast. “That’s such a bullshit reason to continue all this. You could have anybody over for dinner and they would gladly trade a body part to be part of your dinner party, I’m sure. I’m still wondering how I got here, truthfully.” 

“I find myself... curious,” Hannibal corrected, looking unrepentant. “Not least because of your empathy. There’s something alluring at the thought of someone who could see you so clearly.”

“So… you’re telling me you’re… lonely?”

And wasn’t that the crux of the matter?

Will was lonely; he could admit that much to himself now. He didn’t _need_ to necessarily do anything to combat his loneliness. But “needs” were not “wants”. He couldn’t avoid giving in now and then when the opportunity presented itself. So maybe it was the same for Hannibal.

In another life, a better one maybe, he would have settled down with someone nice and normal instead of sifting through the pool of serial killers Maryland had on offer. Alas, it looked like Will had been dealt with this particular lot in his life. As far as potential partners went, Hannibal looked like a catch. 

At least on the surface.

Because Will knew intuitively that something more lay beyond Hannibal’s perfectly constructed mask. He had dealt with too many serial killers that he would be a fool not to recognize that Hannibal’s personality was one that was carefully designed to present the barest of information beyond what Hannibal wanted to reveal.

His grandiosity and his wealth was something that he used as a shield. His cultured demeanor was meant to fool people. His profession was a cover for something else; he didn’t seem like a man who would offer compassion to his patients, though he would pull them apart just to see how their psyche works. 

Hannibal’s mask was carefully constructed, indeed. It was kind of impressive how well he managed to fool everyone.

And yet Hannibal wanted someone who could see beyond the veil. Just like Tobias. 

But with Hannibal, Will somehow found himself wanting to reciprocate that desire, much to his surprise. 

Despite his previous experiences, Will wanted, needed, someone to see him for who he was, not for what he could offer. He wanted Hannibal to break down the forts he’d built in the last fifteen years, and he wanted to do the same to Hannibal’s veil.

By the end of the night, he had to admit that he was enjoying himself. So much so that any thoughts of trying to gain any information from the BAU files escaped his mind. Their conversations were something that Will was beginning to look forward to. 

For the first time in his life, Will saw a potential for companionship.

And so he gave in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we come to the end of the interludes. I hope you enjoyed it (and thank you so much for those who have commented telling me so, you have no idea how happy that makes me ;A;)
> 
> A special shoutout to my lovely beta, [Kai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kai_99/pseuds/Kai_99), who gave me a thorough (and much-needed) ass-kicking for this particular chapter. This chapter would not have been as fabulous without your additional help, so thank you <3 As always, all remaining mistakes are mine!


	14. a way forward

Dinner was a quiet, though highly charged, affair as Hannibal navigated through the new information he has discovered about his lover.

As promised, he had served fish for dinner, and once that was finished the two of them had made their way into the living room. Both of them had foregone their usual _digestif_ after their meal, as they agreed it would be best to keep their heads clear for the conversation.

Hannibal finds himself transfixed as Will begins his tale, detailing how he had ended up in foster care when he was sixteen-years-old, which had brought him to a path that made him a killer. There are echoes of Hannibal’s childhood in Will’s words. Though their circumstances were different, their motivations were similarly colored when life pushed them into their current path.

He stares at Will’s profile as he recounts his past. They’re not keeping their distance on purpose, but Hannibal doesn’t let himself inch closer even if he wanted to envelop Will in his arms. 

He wishes, somewhat impossibly, that he was there to comfort Will through his solitude. Wishes he was there to whisper into the chrysalis as Will’s proclivities made themselves known. Wishes he was there to support Will when life pulled him down to sink beneath the waves. Theirs is a similar ache, and though Hannibal has learned to live with it after he’d gotten his revenge on Mischa’s captors, the wound is still ever-present like a phantom limb.

Will’s voice is detached as he talks about Clark Ingram, and Hannibal smiles when he hears how Will had experienced his first kill. How powerful he must have felt when he found out that he could best his abuser.

When he speaks of Abel Gideon, Hannibal becomes irrationally angry at the thought that Gideon had dared to have Will, only to hurt the man afterward. His heart sings with the knowledge that Will had gotten his revenge over Gideon, and he only wishes that he could be there to witness the man’s rage.

Hannibal listens to Will’s account of how he had met Tobias and recalls his envy over the other man when he’d first seen Will beside Tobias and Franklyn. He listens with some measure of glee when he hears Will’s rejection of Tobias’s offer to be his partner-in-crime at the discovery that Will knew who he was. 

“You discovered his midnight activities through _TattleCrime?_ ”

“I suspected he was a killer even before that,” Will replies, eyes unseeing as he stares at the harpsichord in Hannibal’s living room. “I think he’s killed a few people before he ‘debuted’ with his first high-profile case.”

Not for the first time, Hannibal wishes he could see how Will’s mind works, how it leaps from observations to conjectures. “When he found out you knew, he saw the potential of a true partnership,” Hannibal surmises. 

Will shrugs. “Suffice to say, I wasn’t looking for a partner when he and I began our… relationship. Truthfully, it wasn’t really one. He was looking for someone to stroke his ego, to acknowledge his genius. I suppose that’s why he had someone like Franklyn around.” He winces. “Sorry, that sounds a bit uncharitable to Franklyn. In any case, I was only too happy to supply that to him, at least until it became clear that he was the String Killer. He wasn’t too happy with the rejection, obviously, and… well, I had to get rid of him then.”

The fact that Will had gotten to Tobias first before Tobias had the chance to make him into a tableau draws a fond smile out of Hannibal. “Why did you reject his offer?”

Will huffs a laugh. “He was sloppy, and I wasn’t on the market or looking for any ‘offers’.” He sneaks a glance at Hannibal. “Did you know that the cello display was a serenade for the Ripper?”

“I’d suspected, though I preferred to watch from the side until I had further confirmation.”

“He told me as much,” Will says, snorting, “when _TattleCrime_ practically advertised his kill on their website. Said that the display was inspired by someone he’d admired, so it was to send them a message.”

“Ah.” Hannibal chuckles. “A calling card.”

“Yeah. I told him the Ripper wouldn’t appreciate his serenade with how reckless he was with his displays.” 

“I suspect he didn’t take that well.”

Will huffs. “He didn’t. And after the way he treated Franklyn, I wasn’t too happy with him either.”

Hannibal contemplates that for several minutes. “You see shades of Peter and Ingram in the way their dynamics played out.”

Will sighs, stretching his legs as he does so. “See, this is why I hate it when you psychoanalyze me. Can’t you turn it off once in a while?”

“Much as I’d like to, I’ve always been an inquisitive person, so I fear I must disappoint you.”

Huffing, Will shakes his head. “To be honest, I’ve kinda gotten used to it.” 

Hannibal hums, pleased. “Then I hope you don’t mind me asking: how did you feel when you killed the men who dared to hurt you?”

Will smiles at the dark anger in Hannibal’s tone, though he gives the question its due consideration.

“I felt… powerful,” he replies eventually, his voice hushed. “When I killed Ingram… I discovered something about myself.”

“That doing bad things to bad people feels good?”

Will’s throat bobs as he struggles with his words. “Yes. It felt righteous,” he confesses quietly before he turns to meet Hannibal’s gaze. “What about you? What sort of experiences informed you? What shaped you into the Chesapeake Ripper?”

Hannibal takes a deep breath before he launches into the story of how his world was shattered when the Soviets came to disrupt their lives. His voice becomes hushed when he speaks of Mischa, and Will watches him in understanding when Hannibal tells him of how he lost her. 

He had never talked to anyone else about his sister. There is something freeing in speaking her name again after so long. It’s as if he’s invoking memories of her which had been locked away in his memory palace for decades. He’s almost forgotten what her laughter sounds like, so long has he neglected to revisit her in his mind. 

The fire has died out in the hearth by the time Hannibal finishes his own recollections, though neither of them made any move to reignite it. It feels as though the coldness has seeped into his bones when his mind conjures up the images of his feet planted in the Lithuanian forest thousands of miles away in the past, crying over the loss of Mischa.

There’s a warm pressure against his hand, and Hannibal looks to where Will’s hand is pressed against his. He has no idea when Will had taken his hand in his, but he’s grateful for the warmth now. He’s surprised to realize that a stray tear has fallen onto his cheek, though it’s dried by the time he goes to wipe it away.

“I would’ve liked to meet her,” Will says once Hannibal’s voice dies away.

“She would have loved you,” Hannibal replies with conviction. He squeezes Will’s hand in return.

“Was that why you turned to cannibalism?”

“It may have been the reason I started to,” Hannibal replies. “Though is it cannibalism if I’m not eating my equals?”

Will huffs. “Just because you see them as pigs, doesn’t change the fact that their DNA clearly states that they’re humans.”

Hannibal tilts his head, considering. “I suppose it’s a mind over matter outlook.”

“If they don’t act like a human, you consider them as mere animals?” Will shakes his head. “I don’t know if I can agree with that if we’re being honest with each other. You can’t reduce humans to such simplistic terms.”

“I suppose we can agree to disagree on this. Though I hardly require it, I admit it’s become somewhat of a habit. My palate would be considerably dull without it.”

“I haven’t developed the taste for it just yet,” Will says dryly. “You’ll have to excuse me if I decline to eat at your table for the time being.”

Hannibal’s entire body stills at that. Curious, he turns his gaze to Will. 

“Are we no longer seeing each other?”

“Depends. Are you still planning to kill me?”

“No, not now that I find you more interesting than I’ve initially envisioned.”

Will’s mouth curls into a small smile. “Didn’t think you’d meet a pig that would fight back?”

“Please don’t equate yourself to the rest of them,” Hannibal says with a small frown.

Will’s smile softens further. “I’m curious, though. Why did you display your kills?”

“I had an appreciation for the arts while I was studying in Paris, and later in Florence,” Hannibal explains. “There was too much ugliness in the world; my displays merely reflect that ugliness and turn it into something worthy. My first few kills were more inspired by the arts I’ve seen in Florence before I began to diverge from the theme. It was… something of an experiment, at first. It became unsustainable and so I had to stop. I found my appreciation for it once more when I encountered so many unworthy swines once I’ve settled in Baltimore.”

Will snorts. “And then you continued because you like to taunt the FBI over the fact that they’ll never catch you, not with how you chose your victims. Did Jack ever figure out why the Ripper is taking the organs? Or does he still think you keep them as trophies?”

Hannibal gives him a conspiratorial smile. “I’m very glad you’re not on the team, otherwise I fear I would be in danger of being discovered.”

“Hmm. Perhaps. How did you choose your pigs, then? Your… sounders.”

“Sounders?”

“Sounders of three — you kill them in three in every cycle, don’t you, your pigs?”

“I’ve never heard them described as such,” Hannibal says, chuckling, indescribably fond of this clever creature. How could he have underestimated Will so much? 

“Yeah well, when you call yourself a butcher… seriously, how did you choose them?”

“Let’s just say that their displays reflect the crimes they’ve committed, though I suppose most people wouldn’t describe what they did as ‘crimes’, per se.”

Hannibal watches then, enraptured, as Will’s eyes go glassy as he stares into the distance. Evidently, his mirror neurons are hard at work to empathize with Hannibal’s kills. He doesn’t know how much time passes in the interval of Will’s musings through his recollections of Hannibal’s kill list, but he knows that he would kill more pigs just to witness Will’s thought process again and again.

After some time, Will seems to shake out of it, recognition and a spark of mirth flooding his face when he turns his gaze to Hannibal once more. “You… you’re making an example out of them. They must have committed some sort of transgression against you. Or maybe the crime was against the general public, and you happened to observe their ugliness. These things are not mutually exclusive; sometimes they overlap.”

Brilliant, brilliant Will. “I wonder what you would say if you were to see my… pigs in person.”

Will’s eyes sharpened into a glare. “Don’t you dare. If you do anything to compromise me again, I _will_ cut your balls off and display them, just like how the Ripper would do it.” Off the intrigued look on Hannibal’s face, Will laughs. “Wow, you’d get off on that, huh? Forget I said it then.”

“I would do anything to see what goes on in your mind.”

“Yeah, well, you and several other psychiatrists before you. Line up, I guess, if you’d like that.”

“Hmm. My interests are purely unprofessional.”

“Stop flirting with me and tell me if I was close with my guess.” 

“Was it merely a guess?”

“Observations, suppositions, conjectures, et cetera. Whatever floats your boat.”

“You were very close. Discourtesy is unspeakably rude to me.”

Will’s eyes widen a little at the implication. “You… eat the rude?” 

“In a manner of speaking.”

Will laughs and shakes his head. “Wow. You’re having the time of your life, aren’t you, acting as if you’re profiling these serial killers when really you’re just getting inside knowledge and boasting over the FBI? Knowing that they would never get close to you based on how you chose your victims. You have all the power to mislead them. You’re always having your secret jokes with the rest of us, thinking you’re above everyone else.” He gives a bitter laugh. “The killer who proclaims himself as the master of puppeteer, pulling the strings to direct and misguides others.”

Hannibal hums. “Yes, that was my message to the Copycat Killer, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, you’re so pleased with yourself,” Will says, rolling his eyes. “I’m telling you now: I’m not going to respond to your petty tableaux, no matter how clever or beautiful I think they are. Unlike you, I’m trying to stay low so that no one else can mess up my life.”

“You’re doing a remarkably awful job at it,” Hannibal notes wryly. “How have you managed to attract all sorts of killers to you, I wonder.”

“Must be because of my incredible sense of humor and good looks,” Will says flatly. Sighing, he rises and stretches before he turns to Hannibal. “Well. Now that we have that sorted out, I should be heading back.”

“Are you not staying the night?”

A pause. “Would you like me to? I thought… well, I thought you’d like to have some time to process all this when emotions aren’t running high.”

“I’d like you to stay with me.”

Will stares at him, searching for something before he finally nods. He waits for Hannibal to extinguish the fire in the study before he follows him upstairs, both of them silent until they reach the bedroom.

Once inside, Hannibal pulls Will into his embrace, finally kissing the man after the hours they’ve spent talking to each other. Will lets himself be guided onto the bed, and Hannibal sprawls on top of him, pinning the man beneath him as they kiss languidly. It’s a different sort of intimacy, now that they’ve bared themselves in the metaphorical sense. There’s no sense of urgency at how they touch each other; the touches are a gesture of reassurance. When they finally pull apart, Will doesn’t break eye contact as they gaze at one another.

Will pushes them both to their sides, his eyes still intent on Hannibal’s. “Can we just stay like this for tonight?” 

“Of course,” Hannibal murmurs, smiling softly. “Although it would be more comfortable if we change our clothes.”

“I’m too tired,” Will sighs, eyes already closing. “Do that if you want, but I’m staying right here.”

“You’re holding me very tightly, Will.”

“Exactly. Good night, Hannibal.”

Chuckling, Hannibal sighs and brings himself closer to the man, taking a deep breath to inhale the scent of a tired but content Will. It’s a long moment before he allows himself to sleep, marveling at the fact that he has Will in his arms, his at last. Or so he hopes.

Hannibal wakes before Will the next day, and he takes the time to watch every inhale and exhale out of the man before him. Will is peaceful in his sleep in a way that he rarely looks in his waking hours, the man looks younger than his years when it doesn’t look as if the weight of the world is on him.

He savors the sight for several minutes before he forces himself to get out of bed. He goes through his morning ablutions as fast as he could, eager to return to bed, and more importantly, to Will. Emerging from his en-suite bedroom, he notes that Will is slowly stirring awake, and he dresses himself before he returns to Will’s side.

“Good morning,” Hannibal murmurs, sliding next to Will to give him a peck on the lips.

Will laughs at the resulting look on his face. “Sorry, morning breath.”

Wrinkling his nose, Hannibal gives him another kiss — on the cheek this time — before he gestures towards the bathroom. “Go ahead, I’ll make us some breakfast. You can take any of my clothes from the closet if you need them.”

“Or I can join you naked for breakfast,” Will teases, laughing when Hannibal raises an eyebrow at that. “Okay, I’m going. Go knock yourself out with breakfast.”

Mindful of Will’s request not to eat any longpig, Hannibal prepares a simple meal with eggs and bacon (the meat sourced from an actual ethical butcher this time), making several calls while he’s preparing their meals. 

He cancels his appointments for the rest of the week to clear his schedule, citing a family emergency. As for Jack and Alana, he merely shoots off a message that cites a similar reason before he turns off his phone completely for good measure. 

With that done, he turns his attention back to breakfast and begins plating them on one large plate, setting it on the tray before he brings it to his bedroom. By the time he reaches the room, Will is already dressed in one of his sweaters and pajama pants. He looks like a vision even with the mismatched clothes. 

“Breakfast in bed,” Will says, looking impressed and amused as Hannibal lays down the tray on the bed.

Smiling, Hannibal makes space as Will settles on the bed next to him.

“So this bacon is…”

“Not human,” Hannibal replies, grinning. “As requested.”

“Thank you,” Will says, taking a piece and popping it in his mouth appreciatively, laughing upon seeing Hannibal’s expression. “Stop watching me eat and join me.”

Though Hannibal has never indulged in a breakfast-in-bed before this, he has to admit that there’s something intimate about it that he can appreciate. Having Will close to him after their lengthy revelation last night is comforting, the man looks as comfortable as he can be while he lounges on Hannibal’s bed. Knowing what he knows now, he doubts that no one else will ever see him so thoroughly as Will does. Hannibal doubts Will let anyone else see him like this in turn.

“Oh,” Will mutters after a while, his look turning contemplative. “I guess that’s why you keep on watching me eat every time you made me dinner.” 

Hannibal merely grins, taking a bite of the eggs and savoring the taste. 

Will chuckles softly. “You’re unbelievable. It’s not enough that you make puns others won’t understand, you had to have your inside joke by feeding us some questionable meat.”

“I take offense at the slight that my meat is questionable.”

Laughing cheekily, Will raises an eyebrow at that. “Depends on which meat you’re talking about.”

“Will,” Hannibal laments.

Will throws him another wicked grin. “Shut up and finish your breakfast so we can have more talks about your meat.” 

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Damn right I am.” Will grins and finishes the last of his breakfast before taking a sip of the coffee. He drinks it in silence while Hannibal finishes the rest of his meal. Will watches him eat with a contemplative look on his face.

With breakfast done, Hannibal clears their meals onto the tray before he rises. He turns to Will with a quelling look. “Stay here, won’t you?”

Will sighs and lays back against the propped pillows with a smile. “Sure. Don’t complain if I fall back asleep, though.”

He chuckles and makes his way downstairs again, making sure to clean and putting everything away before he returns to Will.

The man is lounging in the large bed, his eyes closed and his expression contented. Will hums when Hannibal settles himself on the bed next to him. 

“Welcome back,” Will says, smiling into the kiss that Hannibal immediately bestows on him. He blinks his eyes open when Hannibal pulls away eventually. “Are you planning to make me stay in bed all day?”

“Is it working?”

“Hmmm, yes, but not in the way you think. I might just fall back asleep after that breakfast.”

“We can’t have that,” Hannibal murmurs, biting into the meat of Will’s throat lightly. 

Will huffs. “Should have guessed I would be dessert.”

Hannibal chuckles. “Stay with me until the weekend?”

“Don’t you have work?” Will frowns.

“Rescheduled my appointments, and I’ve told Jack not to contact me until next week.”

“Huh. Well, I don’t have any pressing matters, I guess. Though I didn’t bring anything with me for a stay.”

“We can go back to Wolf Trap later. Or you could just lounge around in here naked if you’d like.”

_“You’d_ like that,” Will says, laughing. “Stop nibbling me and come here.”

Hannibal obeys, planting more kisses on Will and settling himself more comfortably on top of him.

“So this is probably a bad time to ask,” Will interrupts, pulling away slightly. 

Hannibal sighs. “Do you intend to test me all week?”

“Maybe,” Will replies blithely, grinning. “We need to clear some things up before we take this further, don’t you think?”

Sighing again, he pulls away and settles himself on his side, staring expectantly.

“First off,” Will begins. “Are you still a hundred percent sure you won’t kill me?”

“If I’d meant to have you as today’s meal, I doubt you’d still be here in my bed right now.”

“Just checking. Always good to know that my meat is off the menu, metaphorical or otherwise.” Will laughs at Hannibal’s glare. “See, this is how everyone would feel about your terrible puns if they knew what I know.”

“Will.”

Another laugh. “Sorry. I just want to know if I’m going to survive this particular relationship.”

Hannibal’s glare softens and he brings himself closer to Will, both of them lying on their sides to face each other.

Laying a hand on Will’s cheek, he caresses it with his thumb. “Would it make you feel better if I give you a promise that I will never hurt you, at least not intentionally?” 

“Are you the type of person who keeps their promise?” Will replies, leaning into the touch with a soft sigh. 

“Yes.” 

The simple and honest reply makes Will smile, though he looks as if he has some reservations still. “If I’m being completely honest, I would say that trust doesn’t come easy to me.”

“Understandably so, after what’s happened to you,” Hannibal agrees. “In that, I believe we are both the same.”

“You don’t let others in easily. It took me a while to see you behind the veil.”

“I could say the same of you. I have to compliment you on your act.”

“They weren’t all acts,” Will whispers, eyes flickering to meet Hannibal’s. “I’m hoping yours weren’t, either.”

Hannibal smiles. “Would it surprise you if I tell you that they’re all very much genuine?”

“Yes,” Will replies, his voice turning hoarse. He closes his eyes with an exhale, looking shaken. 

Hannibal settles an arm around Will, bringing him closer. Hannibal sighs as their lips meet, the touch traveling from Will’s lips to his forehead, to his closed eyes, to his cheeks, and finally to his parted lips. Throughout it all, Will keeps his eyes closed, though he doesn’t resist Hannibal’s touches. Hannibal coaxes his lips open with slow, languid kisses, his hand caressing Will’s skin wherever he could reach it.

“I didn’t know what to make of you initially,” Hannibal sighs in between his kisses. “I have found myself becoming more and more compromised when it comes to my feelings for you. I believe that we are past the point that we could survive a separation.”

Will snorts, though the sound is less amused than it is bitter. “You’d be surprised at how easy it is to survive separation.”

“You’ve been scorned before. By all your experiences of being abandoned by others.”

“Abandonment requires expectations.”

“Though your mind knows to avoid expectations, your heart isn’t so easily convinced.” Hannibal sighs. “Will, please look at me.”

Will does so reluctantly, those stormy blue eyes meeting Hannibal’s nervously. 

“My words might not mean much compared to my actions,” Hannibal confesses. “But I hope you will believe me when I say that I would never hurt you, or leave you unless you want me to.” He considers the statement. “Or maybe not even then.”

Will doesn’t lower his eyes. He looks as if he’s searching for something in Hannibal’s expression until he seems satisfied by what he found.

“Good,” Will murmurs. “I’d hate to kill you, but I’d do it if you ever force me into a situation where it has to happen.”

Hannibal chuckles fondly. “I believe the feeling is mutual.” Pressing himself closer to guide Will onto his back, Hannibal straddles Will and begins to bite into his skin once more, eager for a taste. “Besides,” he whispers, slotting and grinding their bodies together, “what makes you think I would ever let you go, now that I’ve got you?”

“Fuck,” Will hisses, his hands going around Hannibal’s shoulders to bring him closer as their bodies undulate against one another, the friction making them both groan. 

Will pulls him in for a kiss then, his hands traveling lower to remove Hannibal’s pants. Taking the hint, Hannibal helps him with it, pulling away to toss his sweater aside before helping Will undress himself, their hands never leaving each other’s skin if they could help it. 

When Hannibal sinks himself inside Will, he sighs at the sense of completeness washing over him. Will always feels so perfect, his body clinging to him as they begin to move together. Though Hannibal is determined to take it slow, wanting to lavish Will with the attention he deserves, Will’s insistent touches and encouraging words are hard to resist. He’s barely gotten to savor the feeling of being enveloped inside Will before the man arcs his body in a plea for more. 

“Hannibal,” Will whines, sighing at the leisurely pace Hannibal has set. 

Hannibal places his hands at the back of Will’s thighs, forcing Will’s lower body off the bed, the other man having no leverage to meet Hannibal’s thrusts in that position.

“Hannibal, please.” Will huffs. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

Amused despite everything, Hannibal leans forward and kisses Will chastely. “I’m determined to enjoy you to the fullest today.” 

He starts to move then, thrusting inside Will with slow, sure movements, his eyes never leaving Will’s face. There is something so decadent about seeing Will’s face, slack with pleasure, and hearing the sounds slipping out past his parted lips. 

As much as he loves their passionate collisions, there are times when he wants to savor the moment, noting every expression that plays out across Will’s face as he’s taken. He wants to know what gives the man pleasure and what makes him close his eyes and moan, what causes his breath to hitch and what causes his body to tremble with the overwhelming sensations.

“Oh, Will,” Hannibal sighs against his stubbled jaw. “You deserve to be loved. You know that, don’t you?”

“Hannibal,” Will groans, his eyes fluttering closed as he turns his face away to settle into the crook of Hannibal’s shoulders, hiding his eyes, wet with unshed tears. 

“Let me show you how much I love you,” Hannibal whispers.

There’s a broken sob against his skin, and Will nods into his shoulder, breath hitching.

Hannibal’s heart soars for this man who is shaking beneath him, his love unfurling with a fierce and sudden strength. No one else deserves to see Will like this, so willing to fall apart for him, showing him the vulnerability that lies beyond his acerbic facade. 

No one else will get to see it except for him.

Pinning Will into the mattress, he takes his time, letting Will hide his face against his shoulders as their bodies rock together. They are silent then, except for the soft grunts and keening sighs when Hannibal seeks out the spot that would make Will tremble beneath him. When they eventually come, it feels as if it’s the inevitable conclusion to their collision with each other, and they lay in each other's arms for minutes afterward.

Once he’s sure that Will has calmed down, Hannibal pulls himself away to get a look at his lover, noting Will’s flushed cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.

Unable to resist, he brushes a thumb against Will’s cheek to wipe the tears away before bringing it to his lips. He savors the salty taste, the taste made even more potent by the sweat on Will’s skin. It brings out a small huff of laughter from Will, who’s still looking at him with a mixture of disbelief and joy.

“Come here,” Will sighs, pulling Hannibal back to him to bring their lips together. 

Several minutes pass just like that, with the two of them sharing languid kisses until Hannibal finally has to pull away. As always, he doesn’t stray far as he resettles himself next to Will, with Will returning to his arms just as eagerly. He indulges in the moment and lets Will burrow his face into his shoulder once more. The scent of their spent mingling with sweat and Will’s musk fills the air as they settle close to each other, and in Hannibal’s distraction to memorize everything he almost misses the soft-spoken words Will mutters against his skin.

“Did you mean it earlier?”

Hannibal merely hums in inquiry.

“The words you said before. Do you… love me?”

The rush of fondness he feels for this man is truly absurd, though Hannibal allows it to color his voice as he looks down at Will. 

“Is it my words that you doubt, or is it the sentiment?”

The tip of Will’s ears redden, and it takes all of his restraints not to take the flesh between his teeth. It would certainly incite another round of lovemaking if they weren’t just coming down from their climax.

“Or perhaps you merely need reassurance,” Hannibal murmurs, tucking a few stray curls behind the reddened ear. Pressing a kiss at the tip of Will’s ear, he whispers, “I love you, Will. With all my heart.”

Instead of answering, Will only burrows his face closer into Hannibal’s shoulders as if he wants to fuse their bodies. 

There’s a soft murmur of reciprocation from the other man a few moments later, too quiet to hear if it wasn’t for their proximity, though Hannibal hears it all the same. The confession makes him smile, and he places a kiss in the mess of Will’s curls in acknowledgment.

He wants to hear it again for the rest of his life.

They spend the rest of the week idly, never straying apart from one another. 

They’d gone back to Wolf Trap to pick up several things for Will and have stayed at Hannibal’s home ever since, only going out for necessities. 

It feels as if they’re getting to know each other all over again after all of their cards have been laid on the table. Will shows more curiosity about Hannibal’s past than he ever has in the next few days, and it warms him to think that Will is just as invested in this relationship (for lack of a better word) as he is.

Despite Hannibal’s inexperience with relationships, he’s convinced that what he has with Will is something beyond that. It’s as if fate and circumstances have conspired to bring him and Will together in the most roundabout way possible, with the assurance that no matter what, they will always gravitate and end up in each others’ arms, for better or worse. If Hannibal were the type of man to ascribe to the idea of soulmates, he would have known that Will is his. 

Perhaps in every other universe, Hannibal muses, Will would still be his. 

It’s a maudlin thought to ponder while he stares at Will’s back as the man prepares them breakfast. 

Hannibal has taken the backseat for once, letting Will putter around his kitchen — his sanctum — as he watches contentedly. He’s been relegated to make coffee while Will cooks for them. From the scent wafting from the stove, it’s clear enough that Will is making sausages and scrambled eggs. The ingredients came from Hannibal’s store, though Will had made it a point to ask Hannibal pointedly if any of it contained any human remains. 

“We went out together to buy the meat at the butcher, Will,” Hannibal had reminded him, smiling slightly at the distrust in Will’s face.

“I really wouldn’t it past you to have humans inside the eggs, even.”

“Alas, I don’t think that’s possible just yet. Though that sounds intriguing…”

“Don’t go around getting _ideas_ now. Always a dangerous thing with you.”

The planes of Will’s shoulders ripple with his movements as he sprinkles pepper across the scrambled eggs, and Hannibal stares at the sight, transfixed. Wonders if that’s what Will would look like when he kills his victims, the hidden muscles working together with the exertion as Will sees the lights leave his victim’s eyes. Something which he hopes he’d be able to witness one day. 

Hannibal takes in the full view of Will working in his kitchen, then.

Will looks as if he’s much more at ease in Hannibal’s space, now that they’ve spent several blissful days with each other. Each day that passes comes with the conviction that they’re less likely to kill each other in the long run. Cohabitation comes with its own challenges, but Will fits into his life almost seamlessly. It’s as if there has always been a space for him there.

Will there be anyone else who can see him so easily? Who could insinuate himself into Hannibal’s life almost effortlessly before Hannibal realizes how it had happened? Someone who he could foresee himself spending the rest of his life with? 

Hannibal doubts it. Even if there is, he doesn’t think that any of them would compare to the man standing before him now. 

It’s as the conviction in him grows that Hannibal finally moves from his vantage point, making his way to Will slowly, though he takes care to make himself heard. Will, for his part, turns off the fire on the stove before he turns to look at Hannibal inquisitively.

“Come here to help me with the plating?” Will asks, a smile curling at his lips. “You don’t trust me to pick the right china or something?”

Hannibal stays silent, though he does wind a hand through Will’s curls to bring the man closer to him. Breakfast can wait. Hannibal brings their lips together then, soft and sure, and Will parts his lips for more immediately. They slot themselves together almost unconsciously, the two of them already so intertwined that when they inevitably come together, they fit perfectly, like the final pieces of the puzzle.

The languid kiss lasts for a minute or two, Hannibal content not to press it further until Will pulls away. His hand gravitates and settles on Will’s nape then, making sure Will’s eyes meet his before he smiles. “Marry me, Will.” 

With how close their bodies are pressed together, Hannibal doesn’t miss the way Will’s body suddenly grows rigid with shock from the sudden proposal. He lets Will pull away then, notes the man’s widening eyes blinking rapidly, the shade of it no longer stormy but no less bewildered.

“I knew I should have had that coffee before breakfast,” Will says weakly, chuckling to hide his discomfort. 

Hannibal stays silent, though his grip ensures that Will is unable to move away easily, short of incapacitating Hannibal at the risk of toppling the forgotten breakfast on the stove. 

Will sighs when it became clear Hannibal wasn’t going to relent. “Is this really the time? We’ve only known each other for a few weeks,” Will replies, though the flush in his cheeks heightens in pleasure at the way Hannibal begins to caress his nape. 

“That’s not a ‘no’,” Hannibal notes.

“Okay, let me rephrase that.” Will licks his lips, trying to shake away Hannibal’s insistent hand to no avail. “We… we just established that we’re not going to try to kill each other, but that doesn’t mean that we won’t in the future.”

“Is that truly your objection?” 

“Why isn’t it yours?” Will laughs. “It’s… why? You’re not content with just this? The fact that we can coexist together somehow without killing each other is miracle enough, and you want to add marriage into the mix? What if I do something you don’t like? Like eating cereal at your kitchen counter? Or if I mix the whites with the colored shirts in the laundry? Or what if I pair the wrong wine with your meals?”

Hannibal smiles at that, his hand pausing momentarily so that he can look at Will properly. “I don’t kill people for such ‘trespasses’. Are _you_ planning to kill me anytime soon?”

“Well. Not right _now,_ probably.”

“I have no plans to kill you soon, either. Not for any of those reasons, at least.”

“...Thanks, I guess.”

“In fact, I think a world without you would be a less interesting one.”

“This is such a weird proposal.”

“Will.”

_“Hannibal.”_ Will’s tone is bordering on hysterical now.

Instead of answering, Hannibal smiles and leans in to kiss the corner of Will’s mouth, almost reverent. “If I promise to love you and to cherish you in sickness and in health, will you accept?” he murmurs as he pulls back. “Besides, I want everyone else to know that you’re mine.”

Will shivers at that, his eyes flitting away from Hannibal’s face momentarily. For the first time since he’s known Will, the man is speechless, uncertainty playing on his face as he considers the proposal. 

One that Hannibal had not planned for, but one that he’s particularly sure of, especially in light of their revelations. 

Will licks his lips, looking unsure, though his eyes flutter closed when Hannibal’s thumb caresses his ears while his fingers press into the back of his neck. A sound of pleasure escapes him then. 

Hannibal smiles. Yet another erogenous zone that he can exploit in the future to bring Will closer to the edge.

“Stop playing dirty,” Will sighs, though there’s no bite between the words as he leans into Hannibal’s touch, bringing their faces inches apart as he seeks more.

“I will when it stops working.”

Will laughs then, the sound bright and happy. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Is that a ‘yes’?”

“It’s a ‘maybe’. I’ll pay you fifty dollars to let me get back to our breakfast. I am _not_ going to waste the food I’ve just prepared.” 

“Hmm. I’ll give it to you for free.”

Another laugh then. “Oh good, we’re getting better at the compromise thing.”

“On the condition that we continue this talk after breakfast.”

“...what if we go back to bed instead?”

“Then I will continue to talk about it in bed.”

“God,  _ fine, _ we’ll talk after breakfast.” 

“Excellent.”

“Don’t look so smug, I haven’t said yes yet.”

Hannibal’s smile only grows wider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is a short epilogue and will be posted on Sunday :D


	15. for better or worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up if you didn't notice: I've posted chapter 14 just a day before, so make sure to read that first in case you missed it :)

“I’m curious why you chose Freddie for your tableau,” Hannibal says. 

Will blinks at him from where he’s seated in the passenger seat, looking as if he’s shaken out from a reverie at the statement. “What brought this on all of a sudden?” 

“I was reminiscing over your displays,” Hannibal replies, smiling at Will before he returns his gaze to the road ahead.

They’re on their way home as Hannibal drives them back from the Baltimore City Hall, their clasped hands resting over the car's center console. Will had been happy to remain silent as Hannibal’s thumb caresses the back of his hand, though he occasionally squeezes Hannibal’s hand in return. Hannibal can’t quite resist running his fingers over the wedding band on Will’s finger, and he catches Will’s soft smile throughout the drive home, knowing the man has noticed the possessive touch.

“You never did tell me the reason behind your last kill, and I found myself curious,” Hannibal continues.

“Is there a need for a reason?” Will asks, shrugging minutely. He turns to Hannibal, eyebrow raised. “Technically, her death was your fault.”

Hannibal raises an eyebrow inquisitively at that. “Would you pin Tobias’s death on me as well, if we go by the same sentiment?”

Will snorts. “Tobias’s death was his fault. Shouldn’t have been so sloppy with his kill, but no, he was too busy trying to catch your attention to care about the repercussions.”

Hannibal hums, his fingers brushing against the wedding band once more to remind himself that Will is his. “He may have been excited at the thought of reaching out to the Ripper. You must have distracted him away from the Ripper for some time. Did he know it was me?”

Will shrugs. “Wouldn’t tell me at the time, he was being deliberately vague.” He frowns. “I think he did know; he insinuated as much. He was particularly interested in you when we met at the opera the first time, but I put that down to curiosity. At that point, Franklyn must’ve told him all about you.”

Hannibal grins at the mention of Franklyn’s name. “Dear Franklyn, I wonder how he’s doing.”

“Oh, please, as if you care,” Will says, laughing a little. “You got rid of him fast enough after he’s outlasted his entertainment value.”

He can’t even bring himself to feel offended at Will’s observations, true as they were.

“Besides, I can be distracting when I want to be,” Will continues, returning to their earlier conversation, giving Hannibal a little smirk and squeezing his hand.

Hannibal smiles and returns the squeeze. “That, you can be. Though you still haven’t answered my original question.”

Will snorts. “Of course you won’t be so easily derailed. Though technically, it’s not a question. You were merely curious, weren’t you?”

“Will.”

Laughing, Will leans back in his seat to look at Hannibal’s profile. “You were getting reckless with your taunting. You dropped two bodies in retaliation to mine, and I suppose you wanted to lead me and Tobias on this cat-and-mouse chase or continue to show everyone else how much more superior your tableaux are. Obviously, that would've pulled the FBI's attention to me sooner or later; I wanted no part of it. That’s why I had to put an end to your little game.” He shrugs and returns his gaze ahead. “I don’t kill indiscriminately. But killing these monsters was never my pathology; I didn't intend for it to attract _your_ attention. I did it because I could and because they deserved it. Like I said, it felt... righteous at the time.”

Hannibal smiles at the admission. Behind that sense of justice, there’s a vindictive streak buried deep inside Will. What he wouldn’t give to draw that out, see where it might lead them. His heart stutters at the thought of the two of them killing someone together. 

One day.

“You also did it because it would liberate others who were under these men’s claws.” 

“That, too,” Will agrees, his smile going soft at the edges.

Hannibal is reminded of Peter then, the way the man seems attached to Will when they visited each other. It's only natural, really; the two of them had bonded over a terrible circumstance, and Will had saved Peter from a potentially terrible fate. He tamps down the flare of jealousy, then. There’s no reason to harm someone like Peter over such petty jealousy, not least because Will would probably kill him without remorse if he touches a hair on Peter’s head.

“Was Freddie Lounds a monster in your eyes, then?” he asks after a few minutes.

Will looks troubled for a few seconds, though he returns Hannibal’s gaze with a cool stare. “Like I said, her death was technically your fault. You _had_ to involve her with your schemings, didn’t you? What did she say to you?”

Hannibal is only slightly surprised at Will’s deductions. “She told me to look into Abel Gideon.”

Will huffs. “Of course she did.”

“I suppose she wasn’t too happy with you spurning her requests for an interview.”

“She couldn’t leave things well enough alone,” Will says bitterly. “After what she did to Abigail Hobbs, you’d think she’d have the decency to lay low with the money she’s earned from that book.”

“She couldn’t resist the lure of your story,” Hannibal surmises. “She suspects there’s more to you than what’s on the surface.” He turns to smile at Will. “And she was right.”

Will sighs, deflating. “She was right. She found something to connect me to Tobias. I had to take care of her before she exposed everything, thanks to you and your little games.”

“Tobias Budge should receive your censure as well, in that case.”

“Oh, he’s received that and plenty more,” Will drawls, his hand drawing tight against Hannibal. “I hope I don’t have to do the same to you.”

“I would welcome the challenge,” Hannibal says, grinning. “I suppose you count me as a monster as well?”

“Don’t try to paint yourself as an innocent in all this,” Will chides, though his tone belies the amusement apparent on his face. “Besides, you’re _my_ monster.”

Hannibal tightens his hold on Will’s hand, then, his heart-tugging at the admission. “I would love to hear more of your displays, though I admit at this point of time I’d rather hear you in other ways.”

“Well, then, stop dallying and get us home, Hannibal.”

Hannibal smiles at that, though he does increase the acceleration of the car while he’s at it.

They tumble into bed as soon as they reach home, Hannibal leading the way as Will eagerly follows. Once the bedroom door closes, they make fast work of their clothes, tossing them aside carelessly as they exchange kisses before Will pushes Hannibal onto his back insistently when Hannibal tries to reach for him.

“Stay,” Will whispers, eyebrow raised coyly, before he reaches for the lubricant on the bedside table. 

Hannibal watches, enthralled, as Will begins to finger himself open, his chest heaving with the restraint he’s trying to show. Will looks magnificent above him, the man straddling Hannibal and using his fingers to stretch himself, the moans spilling out of his mouth sounding obscene. It’s all Hannibal can do to keep his hands on Will’s hips, gentle yet firm, though he doesn’t force Will to hasten the process. He’s content to just watch the way Will’s mouth open and close with the exertion, the way his face and chest reddens at the scrutiny.

Will smiles at him when he’s done minutes after, rewarding his obedience with a chaste kiss before he lowers himself on Hannibal. Placing his hands on Hannibal’s chest, Will moans quietly at the stretch, his small movements teasingly slow. When Hannibal is completely seated inside Will, he places his hands gingerly on both sides of Will’s hips, smiling slightly at the sound of approval from the man.

Will starts to move then, rising and falling onto Hannibal again and again, his eyes closed in concentration, and a few minutes later, in pleasure. His hands curl lightly around the hair on Hannibal’s chest, the action seemingly unintentional. 

It feels like the best kind of torture, to watch Will take what he wants without being able to reciprocate in kind. Hannibal watches and grunts in pleasure, but he keeps his hands on Will’s hips, not daring to move them for fear of retribution of some kind. There’s little he wouldn’t do to please Will at this moment, the man looks resplendent above him. 

Though he can’t reciprocate in his movements, there’s no reason to keep silent, either.

“You look beautiful, Will,” Hannibal murmurs in encouragement, his hands tightening on Will’s hips.

Will merely grunts at that, though he opens his eyes to stare at Hannibal with some amusement even as his body continues to undulate.

“I’ve wondered what you would be like when you kill someone,” Hannibal continues, eyes intent on Will as his movements pause momentarily at his words. “What sort of vision you would be when you’re drenched in your enemies’ blood.”

“Hannibal,” Will groans, glaring down at him. He punishes Hannibal with a faster rhythm, uncaring for Hannibal’s pleasure. 

“I imagine you would very much look just like this,” Hannibal murmurs. “You would stand over the dead, victorious.”

Will moans, eyes fluttering shut. His movements begin to falter as he chases for his release, his hands tightening around Hannibal. 

“What does it feel like, Will,” Hannibal asks quietly, grunting at a particularly pleasurable thrust, “to see the lights go out of their eyes when you kill them?” 

“Fuck, Hannibal,” Will hisses. His glower is magnificent even as he impales himself on Hannibal’s cock unrelentingly. 

“I would love to show you more,” Hannibal says, grinning at the sight of Will’s dark eyes, aroused and intrigued. “I will show you how to cut them open while their heart still beats in their chest.”

Hannibal uses his hands to pull Will closer to him, their lips hovering over each other as Will gasps into the thrusts, his cock leaking pre-come onto Hannibal’s belly at the friction.

“I would see you hold a man’s beating heart in your hands before you crush his life out of him,” Hannibal whispers.

Will groans as he comes between their entangled bodies, his grip on Hannibal almost crushing. Hannibal notes with delight that he will probably bruise the next day. 

Will slumps over Hannibal then, his face hidden in the crook of Hannibal’s shoulder, exhausted and sated. Cradling Will closer to him, he kisses whatever expanse of skin he can reach while the man catches his breath.

“How beautiful you would look, then,” Hannibal murmurs, smiling at the way Will shivers in his arms. “Covered in blood as you stand triumphant over your kills.”

He kisses Will’s shoulder once more before he flips them over, guiding Will onto his back. He laces their fingers together, relishing the weight of the wedding ring around Will’s finger before he resumes his thrusts inside Will. 

Will merely moans and squeezes Hannibal’s hands tightly as his exhausted body rocks with the thrusts, eyes squeezing shut at the sensations. No doubt he’s feeling overstimulated after minutes of Hannibal chasing his pleasure, though he doesn’t complain. Will parts his lips willingly when Hannibal leans down to kiss him, though they’re merely exchanging their breaths by the end of it all when Hannibal’s thrusts start to falter. 

His climax wracks through him convulsively as he spills inside Will, their hands clasped tight at the way Will’s body clenches and trembles around Hannibal. He lies slumped over Will for a few minutes as they catch their breath. Slowly, he places a palm of his hand over Will’s ribs, where his heart would be embedded inside him through layers of skin and bones.

Hannibal presses his hand firmly against the skin, feeling the way Will’s erratic heartbeat slow down after some time before he pulls away and nestles his body closer to Will’s. Intertwined as they are in each other’s arms, it feels as though he couldn’t make out where one starts and where the other ends. He wonders what it would feel like if their bodies are somehow melded together.

Will throws him an amused smile, though he too clasps a hand over Hannibal’s ribs a few moments later, his eyes closing with part exhaustion and part concentration.

“Can you feel it?” Hannibal asks, his voice hushed.

“Yes,” Will murmurs, bringing his body closer to Hannibal. There’s a sense of reverence in the way he presses his lips against Hannibal’s. 

Hannibal sighs, pleasure uncurling at the gesture. Smiling, Hannibal takes Will’s hand and interlaces their fingers before bringing their hands to their side. He caresses the ring on Will’s fingers as he moves closer to give Will a chaste kiss.

“I want to bring you to Florence for our honeymoon.”

Will’s eyes open through the haze of sleep he’s fighting, and he smiles softly. “Sure. What else are you planning to show me? Looks like we’ll have a busy schedule ahead of us.”

“A busy month, perhaps,” Hannibal replies, chuckling. “I do need to sort out things with Jack before we can leave for our honeymoon.”

“I was wondering when you were planning to pull out all the big showstoppers,” Will teases. 

“I would’ve done much more if you hadn’t insisted on a simple wedding registration.”

“The wedding was for us,” Will reminds him, though his words are without reproach. 

Hannibal hums. “Will you let me spirit you away for a whole month then?”

“Sure,” Will replies, yawning. “Let’s hope there aren’t any more serial killers lurking behind the scene, or Jack Crawford will steal you away instead. Did he say anything about us lately?”

“No.” Hannibal smiles with satisfaction. “He was very happy to close the String Killer’s case, however, once you pointed us in the right direction.” 

Will snorts. “You mean once I prodded _you_ in the right direction. Keep Jack and the FBI away from me. I’m glad that one’s done and over with.”

“Hmm, yes. And since you were very adamant about your own kill being the last one, Jack considers it a cold case for now.” Hannibal gives Will another indulgent smile. “You were very careful with your display.”

“You sound like a proud father.” Will laughs, the corner of his eyes crinkling in pleasure.

“I do give credit where it’s due.”

“Why thank you,” Will says with another laugh. He's been more carefree as of late, and Hannibal is addicted to the sound of WIll's unrestrained joy. “And what of the Ripper?”

“Hmm. I think he would be very busy for a long time. Last I heard, he is very much devoted to a certain man, so much so that he hasn’t found the time for a public display lately.”

“Damn right. The only public display I’ll let you have is an indecent one. Let’s see Jack deal with _that._ ” 

“Would you have me strung naked for all eyes to see?”

“Funny how your mind goes straight to that.”

“What else could you possibly be insinuating?”

“What else, indeed.” Will chuckles.

“While I still have you here… wait here a moment.”

Will’s eyes are curious when Hannibal comes back to bed with an envelope in his hand. He opens the envelope silently at Hannibal’s insistent gesture. Sifting through a sheaf of papers, his face goes blank as his eyes flow rapidly from one paper to the next.

“Hannibal…” Will’s brows are furrowed, and he looks at Hannibal uncertainly with the papers still in his hand. “Why are you giving me these?”

“Those are all the pertinent details you’d need if something were to happen to me.” Taking one of the papers from Will, he gestures at one of the numbers. “Call Metcalfe first. He’s my lawyer; he knows what he would need to do to ensure that you remain unconnected to any of my murders. The accounts I have will be transferred to your name if I’m unable to access it — the Swiss account is where I store most of it. 

“This is the deed to this house. As you can see, your name is already on it. Now, these are the deeds and locations of my other safehouses. They are spread over several continents. Choose the ones you’d like if you need to have a quick getaway or a retirement home in any case. No one else knows about them, and I’ve taken care to disguise them under different names. Again, Metcalfe will guide you through this if you need him.

“If you need a different identity, you can call this number—” 

“ _Hannibal._ ” 

Hannibal turns patiently to Will, raising his eyebrows at Will’s insistent tone. 

“I feel like I’m always asking you this, but what the fuck?”

“There’s no need to swear.” Hannibal sniffs.

That gets a laugh out of Will. “You’re so insufferable. No, come on, explain to me just why I would need all this information?”

“I’m proving my love for you in words and action,” Hannibal says simply. “You’ll have everything of mine should I be imprisoned, or dead.”

Will narrows his eyes. “Are you _planning_ to get caught? Did you kill someone recently? Wait, I would’ve known, we’ve barely been apart these last few days.”

“I have not killed anyone recently,” Hannibal says dryly. He takes the papers and folds them together inside the envelope before putting it aside. Smiling at Will, he takes Will’s left hand — the ring on his finger glinting slightly — and kisses it gently. “I’m preparing for all inevitabilities. I know you think that my words alone might not be enough. With this, I’m hoping that you’ll see how serious I am with my vows. I trust you with my life.”

“God,” Will breathes out before laughing loud and bright. “You’re such a sap.”

Hannibal frowns at that, though whatever he was going to say is lost when Will kisses him, Will pressing him down bodily onto the pillows. They stay like that for a while, and Hannibal doesn’t count the seconds. He savors the kiss instead as he caresses Will’s curls, the two of them basking in the moment. 

After what feels like hours, Will finally pulls back, his eyes bright with happiness. “I love you,” he says, and somehow it feels like a declaration. Will’s eyes droop closed again as he nuzzles his face against Hannibal’s. “Tell me, husband, what else are you planning to show me?”

So Hannibal tells him. 

He wants to show Will Paris, where he grew up with Uncle Robert and Lady Murasaki. He wants the two of them to get lost in the catacombs that he’s discovered once, wants to show Will what had formed his early interests in the morbidity of life.

He wants to show Will Florence, where he learned and perfected his dissection skills over the years. There is also the Primavera, nestled in the wings of the Uffizi Gallery. He wants Will to appreciate the painting as he once did when he sat before the Primavera for days on end as he tried to capture the energy and emotions he feels from that entrancing art. 

He wants to see Will covered in their enemies’ blood as they hunt the unworthy pigs that would dare to stand in Will’s way. This might take more persuasion on Will’s part, Hannibal is patient, though Will hasn’t directly said no just yet.

He wants to let Will know how much he is loved every second of the day, how grateful Hannibal is that their chance meeting had led him to Will. He wants to bring Clark Ingram, Abel Gideon, and Tobias Budge from the dead just to kill them all over again, to feel the satisfaction and triumph Will must have felt at crushing the lives of these men in his hands.

He wants to keep Will in his bed all day long, lay him down on the most expensive sheets that would complement his eyes as Hannibal spreads him open. He wants to make love to Will for as many times as they could, wants to mark and scar Will’s skin to show him and everyone else that Will is his. He wants to claw that brilliant mind open and see what gives him his beautiful insights into the killer he embodies. 

He wants to keep Will by his side forever until death do them part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I didn't mean for the ending to sound so ominous lol; rest assured they lived happily ever after, or as happily as they could when both of them are killers, heh. I imagine a lot of their domestic life would look like this:
> 
> H: Will, my love, would you care to look over this man's profile for me?  
> W: What did you do this time? I told you I'd kill you myself if you bring the FBI to my doorstep with your need to kill--  
> H: In addition to killing unsuspecting hitchhikers, he was also abusing his pet.  
> W: ...I'm listening.
> 
> Ahh, true love.
> 
> I'd just like to reiterate my love for my beta, [Kai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kai_99/pseuds/Kai_99), who had to put up with all my tenses mistakes (tenses? who's that? idk her) and all of my whinging about these two idiots ruining my life.
> 
> A big THANK YOU to everyone who has stuck through this fic, I can't tell you how much your kudos and comments have sustained me throughout it all ;A; Honestly, I started this with an image of ["Black Widow Will"](https://twitter.com/pansyisdead/status/1293529743732744193?s=20) and it naturally evolved from that into something else entirely by the time I reached the end. It's always such a wonderful feeling to have someone empathize with my interpretation of these two -- after all, we all yearn to be seen (a central part to Hannibal & Will's conundrums, and one that is inescapably human). I hope you've enjoyed this offering, and once again, thank you so much for reading, for the kudos, and the lovely comments! I love y'all <3


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